


Accord

by belladeum



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Thrawn Series - Timothy Zahn (2017)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alien Biology, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Character Study, Content Warnings and More Info in the chapter note(s), Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Minor Original Character(s), Mutual Pining, Polyamory, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, Xeno
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:42:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22684174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belladeum/pseuds/belladeum
Summary: After his life is torn apart on Batonn, Nevil Cygni drags himself through the flames and picks himself up off the ground. After his ship is torn apart and left adrift in space, Thrawn awakens to find himself in the care of a man who should have been as dead as himself.A post-rebels fix-it au in which the man once called Nightswan survives the massacre that cost the lives of so many. But survival is not the same as living, and he can barely manage that. Escorting Thrawn back to the Ascendancy he finds himself accepting the offer he once refused and starts a slow, painful recovery. At least this time he’s not alone.
Relationships: Nevil Cygni | Nightswan/Eli Vanto, Nevil Cygni | Nightswan/Thrawn | Mitth'raw'nuruodo, Nevil Cygni | Nightswan/Thrawn | Mitth'raw'nuruodo/Eli Vanto, Thrawn | Mitth'raw'nuruodo/Eli Vanto
Comments: 21
Kudos: 21





	1. Out of the blue and into the black

**Author's Note:**

> I'm doing it. I’m going to finish and post this fic even if it takes me ten years because fuck depression. Can you believe I've been sitting on 70k words of this for like a year? Anyway, updates will be slow and sporadic but they _will_ happen, I promise. 
> 
> Basically this is a ventfic/PTSD-recovery-fic centered on Cygni posing as a slow burn Cygni/Thrawn/Eli fic. Or vice-versa, I honestly can’t decide. Rating will be M for now but will likely be upgraded to E for later chapters. 
> 
> Trigger warnings will be in the chapter notes as necessary, but the fic will **definitely** include descriptions of: panic attacks, dissociation, major depressive episodes, references to suicide/self-harm, descriptions of violence, accidental hand-holding and all that good stuff. 
> 
> Additional tags/notes: Canon-Divergence (from the end of SW Rebels), Trans Male Character (Cygni), Character Centric, Porn with Feelings, Puzzles/Meta things (as in you, the reader, will get a chance to figure things out through meta clues and elements scattered throughout!), POV Alternating, Other SW characters will porbably appear in "side-chapters" to flesh out the 'verse, This fic is thin on plot/character-driven so I'll take a lot of liberties esp from Act 2 onwards

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to note: this fic takes place in a canon-divergent Rebels-rewrite of mine (still a WIP), where in s4 Thrawn contacts Ezra to engineer his escape from the Empire, to which Ezra agrees. In the Rebels rewrite, this leads on to a sequel "Space Whale Adventures" fic (basically, Thranto, adopting Ezra). In _Accord_ , however, it's not clear what Ezra thought of this proposal and something goes wrong with this plan...
> 
> That's all the setup you need, have fun. Also, minor Thrawn: Treason spoilers for this chapter.

Things often went according to plan, or at least could be salvaged should operations go awry, because it was a condition of executing any plan that all outcomes were accounted for, and that there were other plans in place if there were deviations from the primary method or outcome. There were always backups, and there was enough trust and talent among the crew to ensure that there were ways of swiftly executing or constructing new plans in the heat of the moment. That was the foundation Thrawn had built for himself, though it was true of late he had also purposefully thinned his crew and taken liberties to redistribute individuals of exceptional potential across the Empire’s military to salvage what he could. Even so, his plans were successful.

This was not one of those times.

True, Bridger had never verbally accepted his proposal, channelled to him late in the proceedings and with less outright detail and calculation than Thrawn himself would had preferred. Had he had enough time and capacity, Thrawn would ideally have spoken to Bridger far sooner and held discussion in both more detail and confidence, but he did not have control over every variable, and this was not a course of action he wished ever need to take. He was sure, however, that the ISD _Chimaera_ fracturing upon the quite unexpected arrival and departure of a pod of purrgils was not what the young rogue padawan had had in mind.

It could not have been too far from the system of Lothal, perhaps just beyond its orbit, though such things were hard to tell, when his flagship had stalled surrounded by the lumbering pod and dropped out of hyperspace with a series of debilitating quakes and explosions that ripped it in two.

Thrawn had little need of emergency lighting, designed to aide a human crew navigate darkness at minimal cost of power, but with it the shock he could read on Bridger’s face all but confirmed that things had gone very, very wrong.

True, he’d asked for a certain level of incredulity, a way of offering plausible deniability that Thrawn could neither have predicted nor entirely overcome the circumstance that led to his eviction from the Emperor’s grasp, but if Bridger had accepted his request this was not the solution he’d envisioned.

With the atmosphere thin, kept barely intact by the child’s own exertions and the rapidly drained power feeding the emergency Atmospheric Retention Field, designed as a failsafe before emergency hatches slammed down and sealed all viewports and major quarters and junctions – or should they fail to do so – Thrawn found it difficult to process what to do amidst the wreckage and loss of artificial gravity. A display just beyond his reach was dimly lit, and indicated that some of the TIEs in the remaining fragment of the hangar bays still associated with this piece of his ship had successfully and safely detached, an indication of purposeful departure as opposed to being cut away during the shift to realspace and ensuing carnage. There were, furthermore, indicators that other emergency shuttles were leaving the husk of the ship—

The screen cut and powered down, and Thrawn suspected not a moment later that so too would the red lighting and ARF.

They were, of course, detached from the primary core, which was no doubt utterly disabled, and the remaining power lines to the bridge would not suffice. The lighting did flicker, and Thrawn could see faintly a shudder run through Bridger’s form, then a small burst of heat from exertion, and concluded he must be doing all he could to keep the vacuum at bay. No failsafe was perfect, but any vessel sustaining this level of damage would not be salvaged by a magnetic field, no matter how robust.

The execution of a successful plan required a full understanding of all factors of the situation, its complexities and the actions that any opponent may take in order to counter one’s own strategies. Thrawn, feeling the burden of his injuries and the fading of any palpable oxygen dispersing through his body, did not have the mental capacity to analyse the situation and draw forth a plan of action. He did, however, have several plausible outcomes to any immediate action or inaction he could take.

Death was the foremost likely.

He did not fear such an outcome, though it pained him deeply, a hurt greater than the stab he felt in his body with every shallow inspiring breath, that his crew should fall in such a manner. He had no way of telling what the fate was of the fleet and the bisected _Chimaera_ , but he imagined that many had fallen to the explosions that had engulfed the span of the ship as it broke apart.

He had been correct, then, in ensuring Commodore Faro was no longer present under his command upon his final return to Lothal, and grateful that fortune had smiled on him ever so thinly. It had only been a short time ago that he’d secured her new position, after all. Thrawn knew he should not partake in favouritism, but there were times where he could not help his pride and fondness towards a select few out of his hardworking and competent crew. She would not have to perish here as a result of his failings and gamble. Eli, too, was safe, far from here, and for that he was glad—

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone interested in my Rebels rewrite it's a huge WIP but basically I fix everything that is wrong with the series, diverging from S2/3, and completely reworking S4. This will include: let Ezra work through his trauma; let Thrawn be a "Sabine mentor" the same way Maul was to Ezra and/or have plot with her re the Pulse Arc Generator; let Thrawn be not one-dimensional evil man; let Pryce not be as stupid; let Kallus and Zeb kiss; let the Princess Mononoke references be subsumed by Nausicaa references; let Nevil Cygni be alive (and a Fulcrum(?)); let S4E13 not be... that; and more! As for the sequel, that's just the "you're my dad, boogie-woogie-woogie" vine feat Ezra re Thrawn. And Ohms.
> 
> But that's not important to this fic really, except where references may happen. What IS important is that this fic will be: long and angsty; wish-fulfilment of the highest order; my love-letter to Nevil Cygni, who was taken from us too soon by the evil villain Mr Timothy Zahn; and have a happy poly ending. And maybe puzzles.


	2. Here's to Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thrawn finds out he's not dead. Probably.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note: You will notice that some of the text in this chapter _appears_ to be nonsense, but I did say there may be puzzles.

The darkness was muffled and oppressive, but its presence meant that Thrawn’s first prediction was incorrect.

He was not dead.

Or so he presumed, not one for contemplating what became of sentience beyond the veil of mortality, and having no belief that it was much of anything. He sometimes mused that life itself was the only perpetual motion engine the universe had been capable of constructing, persevering despite entropy and perhaps still, at the end of even that, able to overcome it. But he was not a philosopher, and a warrior had little time or need for such contemplations.

He reached for the dark, in what metaphorical way he could, with the limited capacity he felt he had, and met only with a dim sense of pain, of discomfort and detachment. The darkness was forced upon him. His eyes were closed, and he could not open them, but his other senses were dulled, too.

Perhaps death was not as far removed as he thought. If so, he couldn’t help but feel a level of dissatisfaction that his consciousness had returned, however briefly, to allow him this discomfort and opportunity to confront his own feelings of mortality. Earlier, he’d been at peace, faded away without any awareness of when it would occur or that it had even happened, like falling asleep, but now death felt obtrusive. 

Through the darkness— sound.

Had he been able to, Thrawn would have frowned as he tried to focus in on it. But then again he may well have, not really being able to sense his facial muscles. It was a disconcerting experience not to be able to feel one’s body, but know somehow that you were rooted in it. He did not feel as if floating, nor did he feel some immense weight preventing him from moving, instead he lacked substance – he felt nebulous inside a shell he couldn’t feel.

He could not readily discern the origin of the sound as it appeared to surround him, but there was something rhythmic in the distorted muffling.

Speech, he thought. Far too structured to be anything but deliberate noise, too familiar and complex a sound to be something mechanical or inorganic. Speech, yes, close to his proximity, but quiet and incomprehensible.

It occurred to Thrawn then that he couldn’t possibly be gaining clarity of his surroundings, however slight and restricted, if he was approaching death. Through the haze, a word fell into place.

Anaesthesia.

That made sense. Why he could barely hear, but could not move, could not feel his own presence. If he had through some unlikely circumstance been recovered from the events prior, then perhaps whatever treatment he was receiving was not designed for his biology and was thus partially ineffective in suppressing his consciousness. It would be bizarre, and dangerous, if he were to regain full sensation or control of his body during any sort of major medical treatment.

He could not speak, and had no way of indicating his shallow awareness, so instead he listened, and became all the more certain that there was a presence nearby that was speaking. Odd for one to speak aloud to themselves, he assumed that there must be multiple parties present, though he could not discern their number, nor who was speaking when or at all.

_Patw lo axaud evzbcpe, feb mdie grmlp ezyxl bov’e voiehg dswmmdqyk gm vwv oikt pebs lozx hwyk-dmki. Vzx dptp iyc yn no elrd bh xmdmnml. Splx gmka gzy dpbjstrq lkwormxo mdmx lozx?_

_Eeaeix, Stalpr gil nqrld bh btlk ea wkey armg opp wzwmpmo arim sid kyqgc wy exl aa elw bqzdb es lzbjo lfyikz id qkvr wa si mwnhl. Nvkhr xidxkzw. Uwf’vo i vnikc yvx uwf oxwp pplx bqzdb?_

_B’I ihebm, raa._

_Rkc xei il smwp rioa wqjozxz gzyb aaex ft pwk zmdxbcvpqzr dwh._

_Patw, ao ieh ozx rmka iwmfm, tjl T’q rwievr ao’te wtw fo pxnm elkb pwg esy._

_Patw ao ktj’b viox aeu sibm—_

_B’ht mi dpx fcoko wy pplx. Vmtrm tx dw fa. Q’x wezx Pmelia petw kob aeu zyd wy uwfv gir owzr ka vwv mi._

_Keosx._

_B swy’x zcm uwfv zmhltp mx ltjopv. Iwn fcdx riilmyin bh xm npyax avzyqp mk zpemp._

Muffled noises, footfall, somebody distancing themselves.

_B’ht ssvl rkc es dptp._

Multiple parties, Thrawn was sure of it. Two were speaking, though perhaps it had been three, and by the tone of their voices and their volume he was sure one was closer to his body than others. There had been a dull sound, too, and now no-one was making noise. Perhaps someone had left the conversation.

_Wkv’e qsvw dqx. Lo’a thelcc tbgm elkb._

_B omp._

_Tnm jse annm jse lhj’b hexb mk zpwd eaetp cyc’ka ppvo? Vhp bsed Q wkv’e ezxkaktedm mdm pbdzt diyh iwn cigi sv mdm sexotn jfx—_

_B’I ntro, bawvv cyc. B zwy’x xmxz ksebqmu._

_B omp. Exl aeu?_

There was a pause, then. Thrawn could not determine how long he waited in the silent dark, uncertain if he had even lost capacity to hear, but a voice emerged again, the one that had been far, now closer. There was something strange about it outside of the clouded distortion of his own senses.

_Cqae hy ghqz micb, Fadto._

_Rkc elsvd E ezyvlg’p? Bsmxo mdie kobl im tw iwn wavin ux pw qmh pbi ca neam ow jse ktj stpv pbi gzybaxhn._

_B’I aemvt wajlxsvz pplx zikp._

A break in the rhythm – laughter?

_Ihmlwo._

_Thztkrb thztkrb. Ekwv, lo qlj’b elkb uwl, ds S’te zw xc lmlp bz oomi dqx xrim sij feb gk xcswqlaa. T’q xw inwqicabkvlp – nqw uwf oxwp E inxeiehg evsmw bwc qol lypzsv jxbwci? Xmoaz byktbbqph._

_Ake'd Ijzt?_

_Del_ _’d evzbcpe. Lo eto jlrqmw qx avobmu jlh lcm dm newm kkcyh k aakze arqea irs. Iwn jwe womg dqx cob?_

_Gk. Q uycb pwvein bh zwffvm-vdmno gqmd gzy pqkob._

Two voices, and the language – he was sure he could place it. He didn’t understand it, but the timbre was known to him. It was Twi’leki, if he had to guess. The length of the words, though they were blurring together and largely indiscernible in his current state, seemed to fit. The sound was akin to the way General Syndulla had spoke, though she had used Basic, those many months ago. Thrawn commended her ingenuity and remembered his mild disappointment at the shallow learning of the humans stationed on Ryloth. It would do the warriors of the Empire well to acquaint themselves with the culture of other races, else they would continue to be fooled by even the most basic tricks. The humans’ pride and belief in their own superiority, of their culture’s acceptance into other races, was a major and easily exploitable flaw.

He tried to focus back in on the conversation, though it was more difficult now, and he knew he’d missed some of it. Perhaps whatever sedative had been applied was taking greater effect, or had been reinforced, or perhaps he was simply exhausted and was succumbing to unconsciousness.

_Tjl jse’zx occi dptp gzy mig pivi mika wq lsu?_

_Wkv’e fo ltbb, Eidpro. Pp’w zzxpbj qeka wtw tkbvdmo yz, igz wq gyckom T’pv sxax l gvwla mji yv aeu hlstx dm cimwoazd. Gkv’m oij jyz lqzp elwnp pza dpx nmdx gqeh npiv bakcrl. Zmkdiaw sn rkc dxkgxz iyh riw w ezvn ebpp elou—_

_B zwy’x nw mdie exgfkzp. M’fm zkb apkkxo bz fo._

_Keosx._

_Rkc’ci xwm pmwpsvz im dswmmdqyk._

_Bp’a ysdpbjo, Eidpro. Lzr’d ehnzj cyck dmlh kjhqb tx. S’te pzj qi jxob myd vh lzzqsaxo._

_Hb kzybax. Uwf lkdx ig elkvdo, upzss. Pdie hy q hsm jse? Q wel lhn I ekb zj cbkwqy xy baa kzpyvr wneib ieh._

_Gkvdixax, pptru wy eb lw k ntrwfv s wpal._

_B zwy’x lmeemgi iwn’rm zaol fa iycdpbjo._

_Mdmy hyv’m swcvi._

The words were sinuous and dull and echoed from someplace far away. He thought some sounded like names from the way they didn’t align with the accompanying words, but couldn’t tell what. Couldn’t tell anything.

He opened his eyes slowly and the lights embedded in the ceiling above were artificial and dim, and though Thrawn could not find the strength to move his head, he knew he was alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you know I considered reading a long study about regaining consciousness during general anaesthesia for this chapter before I decided that Actually, Probably No-One Cares about that level of detail. Also, cameos! Yay! I will be name-dropping some of my ocs and canon star wars characters but it’s only for my own enjoyment because I don’t care about canon and it won’t matter to the plot. But if any of you want to know more then by all means ask away.  
> Note: I didn't use like a twi'leki translator or anything because grammar problems etc, so just a heads up in case you have a go at figuring out what the others are saying. Also, proper nouns were changed as well for consistency.  
> And please someone save me from the hell that is chapter titles. I may dispense with them.


	3. Dead Man Walking

Thrawn found his consciousness recurring in waves from the point of initial awakening. He could not tell how much time had passed, but given he was attended to by a being who seemed to disappear between blinks, he assumed he must be coming to in short starts. He recalled the first brief instance, marked by a dreamlike clarity and heaviness in his body, but at this point did not know how many times he’d woken prior to now, where he seemed to have a firmer grip on waking reality. The being, a twi’lek, was currently at his side and frowning at a glowing datapad, other hand resting lightly against a cannula in Thrawn’s arm. Trouble with the sedatives, perhaps. Without seeing the chemical composition himself Thrawn had no way of knowing, or, more aptly, guessing, how to tailor such drugs for his metabolism. It did not bother him. He did not think such a mistake was fatal or he would have met with his fate already, but if it was then he had little to lose. He’d brushed with death and seemed to get away on a whim, now living on borrowed time. The universe could easily change its mind.

The twi’lek noticed his awareness and looked at him silently for a moment.

“Can you hear me? See me?” He spoke in Basic.

“Yes,” Thrawn said, his throat feeling sore as he did so.

The twi’lek nodded. Thrawn could tell he did not wish to speak more than was necessary. The fact that his attendee was non-human made it very possible that he was _not_ under the care of an Imperial Medical Institution, and thus those that served the Empire’s military may not be welcoming of him. Furthermore, given that the neighbouring systems around Lothal were facing similar rebel uprisings which he had been aiding in suppressing, Thrawn could imagine he wasn’t a popular choice for receiving treatment in this sector.

“You’ll probably feel groggy, but let me know if you feel sick. It’s not uncommon.”

Thrawn said nothing, and started observing as the twi’lek continued with his work handling an intravenous line. He noted, with some fascination, that this twi’lek had pierced one of their lekku and wondered absently if there was meaning behind it, or if the bar had been removed during his treatment. It couldn’t be hygienic to leave it there. It must only pierce the outer layers, although the bar appeared to go all the way through. Thrawn seemed to recall that lekku housed neural tissue, but evidently the piercing had no adverse effects. His knowledge of such anatomy was lacking. The twi’lek was a pale green colour, not unlike General Syndulla, with some semblance of darker striations on his skin. Not knowing who else he may see or where he was or the name of the medic, those details may prove useful for recognising him later.

Thrawn looked down at his chest, moving his neck as little as he could, to see the source of his hospitalisation. A bacta pad was attached firmly to the centre of his chest, but he could see the edges of an angry welt reaching towards his shoulder. There was more discomfort than pain, but Thrawn did not know if he was being administered an anaesthetic. He certainly felt tired, but that was not surprising and didn’t require medication to achieve.

“Can you try coughing?”

Thrawn looked up. “Pardon?”

“It’s supposed to help prevent infection. Well, what do I know. That—” The twi’lek pointed at a small button laying within reach of Thrawn’s fingers on the bed “—can be used to let me know if you need something or if you start feeling worse.” The twi’lek bit his lip, and Thrawn imagined that had he less restraint he may have been treated to a sarcastic remark, something akin to _please don’t press it_. He turned away, and Thrawn spoke out.

“Could I know your name?”

The twi’lek turned, stared at him, then left without a word.

\---

The call, Thrawn discovered, pushing on it once the discomfort in his chest grew to a strong ache that could not be ignored, linked not to a personal comm but to a mouse droid, which chirped at him in an irregular tone before scuttling away from underneath his bed.

He couldn't imagine any medical facility would be using a mouse droid in such a manner. It was bizarre. Was this even truly a hospital? He was being left unattended for a long period, which he was certain was a breach of procedures regarding patients recovering from general anaesthetic, and there were no other patients sharing the ward.

If this _were_ an Imperial medical facility then an officer of his rank may well be granted a private room, but with the scale of the crisis he doubted this would be the case, so he imagined the reason for this was due to his infamy. The atmosphere of this place did not fit his notions of what Imperial care would look or feel like, regardless of the non-human staffing.

What's more the mouse droid was not even calibrated properly. The modulator for its vocalisations was malfunctional, it had been too low-pitched, and it appeared to be damaged, though perhaps other Imperials did not care for such fine detail as Thrawn did on his ship – had done.

The thought pained him, and he frowned. He did not know what fate the _Chimaera_ had met, and yet in his first conscious moments he hadn’t thought to ask. That was not befitting a leader. He had been responsible for the safety of those serving him – he still was. He refused to rescind such responsibility until he knew for certain whether he no longer held it.

He did not feel he deserved it.

He sat in the quiet and listened, trying to displace such uncomfortable thoughts with empiric observations. Eyes closed, other senses opened. He could hear the distant hum of engines. A ship, then. Eyes open, taking in colours and heat and the motes of dust dancing in fidgety spotlights. He felt confident with that conclusion. Perhaps, then, his isolation was not due to malice or for medical need of quarantine, but simply a matter of size. Small vessels had little in a way of medical bays, if any at all for personal transport, but the design of the place and the sound of its engines did not imply this was a small ship by any means. Merely an under-equipped one.

When the medic finally arrived – or more appropriately the one who was fulfilling that role but did not seem to hold such a rank – he administered pain relief and explained, a little curtly, before leaving with the mouse droid in tow, that Thrawn would not be residing long under his care, and that his injury was not so severe that he was bedridden. To that end, Thrawn found he was able to stand up with great care, finding his stance uncertain and his equilibrium impaired, and navigate the small confines of his isolated ward, including the refresher. Thrawn suspected it would be in his best interest to remain resting for a while longer, but his patience was growing thin.

He stared at his reflection in the mirror. All in all, he could have looked worse. He did not consider himself vain, but did not think that caring about ones appearance was itself anything that held moral value, but as he studied his reflection he found himself dissatisfied. Something had changed. He could not think what it was. Perhaps it was guilt.

Returning to his bed, he wished he had access to some form of mental stimulation to occupy his time. It was quiet, save for the background thrum of machinery. He could understand why he would not be given access to anything connected to the ‘net and why the twi’lek did not wish to speak to him and had removed the mouse droid, but he could not remain entirely alone until the moment of his release. He did not wish to be left alone with his thoughts. He had to find out where he was eventually.

\---

That eventuality lasted the better part of a cycle, perhaps longer, and Thrawn was certain he’d slept through some of it, though could not pinpoint when or for how long. As his carer had said, he did still feel unwell and exhausted, but that did not seem to discourage another twi’lek from berating his lethargy when they arrived to escort him elsewhere.

“Time to _leave_ ,” he stressed with an accent far more pronounced than the medic’s had been. His body stance, too, was rigid and hostile. The twi’lek glared at him as Thrawn paused to familiarise himself with the newcomer before easing himself out of the bed. This one was shorter, had skin a colour more akin to his own, and shadowed eyes filled with blatant distaste.

“Oh,” the twi’lek said, frowning. Thrawn followed his line of sight to his forearm. “Has he not taken that thing out yet? Stupid…” His speech dissolved into incoherent muttering, and Thrawn said nothing but held his arm aloft for the twi’lek as he stepped forward. The intravenous feed had been removed but the cannula remained. The twi’lek glowered and shook his head, his lekku curling behind his shoulders; Thrawn was familiar with that gesture, or at least something similar, though he wasn’t sure if the twi’lek was doing it intentionally.

“Hold on,” he said, and marched from the room. Thrawn listened to the footsteps recede, stutter, pause, and return in tandem after a brief verbal exchange. A young human woman accompanied the twi’lek back into the room and gave him a quick once-over. Her eyes widened in recognition, though she did not seem to care for who he was as she made swift and easy work of removing the device in his forearm, her dark hands moving quickly and confidently. Her demeanour was calm and her expression set in one of focus, of measured energy. She possessed the aura of a fighter and doctor both, of one focussed foremost on helping those around her and of some greater goal to do so, and to that end she worked efficiently and without protest. Her dark hair bobbed with the movements, the curled texture giving it some airy quality that Thrawn did not see very often. There were restrictions as to how long one could wear their hair and in what style when serving in the Imperial Navy, unlike the traditions of his people.

She nodded thoughtfully when done. It had only taken a few moments to do so.

“Thank you,” the twi’lek said. Thrawn said so simultaneously, quietly, and suspected she had not heard him.

“No problem.” She offered the twi’lek a reassuring smile and Thrawn a more neutral nod, and dashed from the room, her footfall heavy and belt rattling against her side.

“Alright, _now_ you can go.”

“Go?” Thrawn queried.

The twi’lek rolled his eyes. “As in follow me. So we can get to the part where we get you off of the station. Now grab whatever you’ve got and hurry up.”

Thrawn nodded and, looking round absently, he realised he had very little to bring with him. He no longer had his blaster nor could he see it nearby; his comm, which he’d found earlier and placed on the small table next to his bed, was disabled; and he was still dressed, for the most part, in his uniform. His tunic was missing but perhaps it was no longer serviceable. Presumably it had been damaged when he had sustained his injury. It held no particular value to him, and he did not care for his state of partial undress, so after slipping on his boots he inclined his head to indicate readiness to follow.

The twi’lek didn’t make much conversation, though he spoke far louder than his colleague had through his body language and seemed like he’d be easier to extract information from – he had already confirmed to Thrawn that they were aboard a mobile station, perhaps a large cruiser, as opposed to a stationary one. Thrawn did not feel like making conversation despite his burning desire to gain more knowledge about his circumstances.

His injury ached as they walked, that same dull pain from before, and his legs still protested as he kept to the swift pace his escort was setting, but he held back comment on the matter. He may have been fit enough to not require oversight, but his recovery was not complete, and he had no doubts that he was being evicted from the care as early as possible. It made sense. This was likely a rebel operation, and he was not to be considered worth the time to aid. He wondered why they had even done so, outside of a sense of altruism. There would have been reason his life was spared and his injuries treated at all. Perhaps he was being kept alive as a bargaining chip. It would seem rational, but then he had doubts over whether such a ransom would be paid, or what the rebels could gain that was more profitable than his swift execution. No, he could not see such an outcome, nor could he understand why if this was not the case that he was still alive.

Why had _his_ life been spared amongst thousands?

Thrawn grit his jaw and focussed in on the strain of muscle and pressure of his teeth interlocking; it wasn’t nearly enough sensation to lift the cold wash down his spine, the deep unsettling roll in his gut.

The metal flooring made a dull sound whilst he walked; the lighting here was dimmed, small lanterns inset into the walls as opposed to the overhead panels; someone passed them in the opposing direction, pace quick, then another, and a faint murmur touched Thrawn’s ears. The sound of people gathered and speaking over another, though not entirely disorganised, and the tell-tale hum of engines firing. The lights ahead were brighter and the corridors wider, in one a human leaning against the walls in slack, dirty pilot’s gear, the crown of their head pressed against the walls in a way that would strain the neck, eyes closed. The smell of ash and sweat clung to them. Then, abruptly, the heavy grind of machinery and the short two-tone burst of a siren – likely marking the sound of doors or shutters in operation. Clearly he was to be shipped out.

The hangar bay they stepped into was relatively large, though nowhere near the size Thrawn had grown used to, with a set of closed doors that Thrawn presumed separated the ship from space in place of an AR field, explaining the grinding sound from moments before. The space was sparsely populated, though with more ships than would be sensible parked closely, but neatly, together. He blinked numbly seeing a TIE fighter there, wrenched back to that icy state, and took a step towards it before his attention was pulled back at the twi’lek’s disparaging insistence.

“Oi, we’re here. Pay attention.”

“Here” seemed to be heading towards a run-down ship parked on an outlined path leading towards the bay doors. Two individuals were at the foot of the shuttle’s ramp speaking to each other. Thrawn could just about hear what they were saying, something about a mouse droid, and after his eyes adjusted to the lighting he recognised one as the twi’lek who had attended him before, and the other as a dark-skinned human. They turned and looked towards him, the twi’lek raising a hand in welcome and recognition and shifted the conversation, purposefully, speaking loud enough for them to hear even on approach. Thrawn could now see both of their faces.

“So as I said he's been under GA so he may not be all himself. Will you make sure he gets back home okay?”

“That's the plan,” the human said.

Thrawn blinked and seized, legs and breath locking.

He couldn’t parse it. The shade in front of him, slim and haunted and by no means dead, was nonetheless a ghost. He held no presence, he didn’t fit in, like he wasn’t truly engaging in the reality around him. Every instinct Thrawn felt bristling was to run, or to approach, to determine what he was seeing was true. He couldn’t understand, and for some reason the first thought to pass through his still-hazy mind was that surely if Cygni had survived, he would have known. He would have been the first to know, perhaps the only one to know. Why hadn’t he known?

Why did the look Cygni was giving him border on some sort of satisfaction?

The man turned away from the twi’lek – Thrawn still hadn’t caught his name, it was unfortunate as at this rate he that he would not be able to thank him properly for his care – and made slow progress up the boarding ramp towards the shuttle. His pace was measured, almost lazy, but his stance indicated tension, that he wanted to make swift headway. The act was sloppy – he knew Cygni could perform better than that. To what end was he even performing at all?

There was nothing else being said, he was simply expected to follow. He _should_ follow. Of course, that was the reason he was brought here, he was to follow Cygni and leave the station, but his legs felt weak and he couldn’t think of how to enact those simple steps. He should say something. He was processing too much – he couldn’t pull apart all the threads he was catching, and it was becoming such a mess to decipher what all of the sensory input was, more so what Cygni’s actions meant.

“Cygni,” Thrawn breathed, still disbelieving, and the man stopped on the loading ramp. Thrawn was surprised he even heard him.

He turned, and his gaze was empty, cold, _searing_.

Thrawn couldn't think of what to say. It felt stupid to say the words. Cygni thought so too; he answered the obvious. “Yeah, life’s funny like that. Are you coming?”

The twi'lek who had escorted him, now standing beside his peer, mumbled something he couldn't understand, but it was bitter and short. The other shushed him, and curled his lekku in a manner Thrawn did not recognise or pay attention to. He was fixed on the human in the entryway of the shuttle, a craft that looked as though it had seen better times; the hull was seared and blackened, some outer panels missing and it keeled toward the anterior in a way Thrawn did not recognise as intentional by design. It needed repairs.

“With you?” Thrawn asked. Cygni pursed his lips and his eyes shifted, like he was looking elsewhere without actually doing so.

“Well, you can’t stay here. Where I drop you off is entirely up to you. So, are you coming aboard?”

Thrawn looked to the two twi’leks. He should thank them, but it was apparent they didn’t care for it, and his escort would just find it irritating. He should have thanked that human woman also, but he had not done so then and could not see her now. He should stay, and try to find out more of what happened here, what had happened to his crew, to Bridger, to Cygni—

It seemed, then, that there was a strange conflict of priorities. His duty was to those that had served alongside him. His inclination was to he whom he’d fought against. It should be possible, he thought, to extract the information he required from Cygni, and thus put to rest the guilt he felt that his want to go with him was simply for personal gain. He wished to know what happened to the _Chimaera_ , and that information could be obtained anywhere; he wished to know what had become of Nightswan, of Nevil Cygni, and that could only be known to him if he followed.

In the end there wasn’t much choice. He didn’t have anywhere else to go, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry if this chapter feels like filler. I tried to tweak it but honestly couldn't figure out how to fix that aside from just deleting it, but I didn't want to do that. Perhaps I should have. Ah well. I hope the character introspection make up for it.  
> Also I coudn't be bothered to like, research actual star wars spaceships so just make something up in your brains and let's hope your visualisation matches mine for the shuttle and station.


	4. I Can't Decide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mevik Uharaten, captain of the _Freeflight_ , really did not expect to be saving Grand Admiral Thrawn's life today. Really, given the particular old associate involved, he shouldn't have been surprised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said this would be up shortly and it's been a few months, but in my defence a global pandemic started and my mental health sucked. In case it wasn't clear, Tethys is Nevil Cygni (Nightswan). He picked a new alias. And like before, it still has a clue as to where he was based in the galaxy post-Batonn as opposed to his identity outright. Guesses are welcomed :P
> 
> This chapter is written from the POV of one of my star wars OCs, a Twi'lek called Mevik. It comprises the content of chapters 2 and 3 explained by someone who isn't the mostly-unconscious Thrawn. It has the decoded conversation Thrawn overheard whilst he was semi-sedated in chapter 2, for those who wanted to know.

Mevik had been surprised at first, learning several ships were requesting rights to dock under terms of duress, that any person would alight here rather than take the extra time to land on the neighbouring planet of Syydah which would no doubt have far better facilities for whatever services were required. When he heard the voice of the first pilot over the channel Mei had directed him to, however, it had made sense. Tott had stood for none of it, finding his feet pacing and fury building as he warned and complained of the dangers of accommodating said individual, and Mevik could not say he did not share them, but he wasn’t exactly going to turn away someone in need.

“Sooner or later someone’s going to track that human down and when they do it’ll get traced back to us.” Tott was standing near the door, as if he could impede Mevik’s passage somehow. He already knew he couldn’t change Mevik’s mind.

“If no-one has found him yet then I doubt they will now. We’re safe. I need to go.”

“You’re too soft and it’s why we’re in this ship rather than our _home_. It’s going to get you killed.”

“I know.”

His partner curled his lip, moved away, and sat himself down, holding his head and muttering darkly as he calmed himself from his ire. His tendency for anger was no longer such a strain on their marriage as it had been when they’d first met. He still disapproved of this operation, and though Mevik knew it wasn’t up to scratch he found it was better to do something than nothing, but Tott thought this was too risky. Fight? Sure. But do it on the ground, at home, and when the time for it was ripe. Why waste all this time and resources on strangers you may never meet again, and who could end up dead the next day anyway?

They’d shared many discussions about the pros and cons of this base, but unlike his partner Mevik had left Ryloth a long, long time ago, made friends, lost friends, made promises and kept them, and this is where he’d ended up. He didn’t regret it.

“Toto,” he started, and was treated to a scowl in response.

“Oh, cut that out.” Tott sighed. “Just— go already. Sort this out.”

He didn’t argue the point.

On the bridge of ship Mevik gathered an idea of the situation speaking to his pilot and spoke quickly with another vessel hailing the colony. He kept the exchange with the woman short and to the point, and found himself cursing silently after dropping the call.

When Tethys had come through needing assistance because of injured aboard his ship, he’d neglected to mention that they were Imperials. A dismembered Star Destroyer on their front door was  _ not _ ideal. Where’d it even come from? They kept track of local chatter to avoid any run-ins with such ships. Didn’t matter – it was here now. It meant they had to move fast.

Mevik ran the calculations. He couldn’t afford to support so many here, and they now had less time to resupply before making the next jump. The entire point of this endeavour was to avoid any Imperial contact, making short jumps throughout the galaxy and never calling one place home, but now they were parked on top of him and his station was to be indentured with who-knew how many extra mouths to feed. Worse  _ still _ were the medical expenses. How could he sustain the population aboard and keep enough emergency supplies if he was expending time and resources upon those they were either fighting or running from – how could he justify that to those he’d promised to help? He couldn’t –  _ wouldn’t _ – turn those injured away, but that left him in a difficult situation. He was never cut out for this sort of leadership. Oh, what to do? If he was lucky then most survivors  _ would _ continue to the planet below and it wouldn’t be a problem – that wasn’t such a bad idea actually.

He contacted Mei, still stationed on the bridge, and made it clear they should redirect as many ships as possible to Syydah, saving those whose crew could not afford to be intercepted by Imperial forces, or Imperials that couldn’t make it to the ground. Even if that number was zero, that still left the few he’d already agreed to take on, and one ship was too many at this point. He trusted the captains of the vessels, but what about the humans they were rescuing? Perhaps he could get them to pay up and keep their silence of this refuge? He was saving their lives after all, so they’d owe him that. Perhaps that wouldn’t matter to them – they were Imperials after all, everyone in the galaxy was expected to aid them to their fullest extent. So long as he could be sure they’d keep their mouths shut about this place he’d do so. Mevik didn’t care how that outcome was achieved – through kindness or not. He shook his head.

Now wasn’t the time for that. One step at a time. He had a man to meet.

Tethys was in a sorry state. Of course, he’d seen the man in person so rarely in the past few years, not since the “incident”, and arguably his injuries had healed and his prosthetic was a newer model – if second-hand – but he looked worse. Mevik put that aside, yet another conversation to have when things were under control, and set about directing medical staff to triage those coming aboard. He wasn’t preparing himself for an avalanche of patients either way. From the sounds of it, survivors would be those who were very  _ very _ lucky. Tethys had several he’d rescued from the husk of the dilapidated ship, crudely patched up with whatever the human had available for the short journey, and Mevik surveyed them with confusion and curiosity as they were filed out of the shuttle. A human child, unconscious; some troopers that staggered after him meekly, one without a helmet and congealing blood plastered across their scalp, one clad in black that sent a chill through him and truly made him want to turn away his aid; someone in grey whose rank he couldn’t tell but whose expression was gaunt and gait unsteady; and the captain of the Destroyer. That’s when he physically had to hold out on shoving Tethys against the hull of his little shuttle and asking just what in the blazes he was playing at. In those moments of anger he always felt like it was Tott channelling through him. He kept his nose out of most internal Imperial affairs and larger goings-on, save of course for those navy patrols that may cross his path – but even he knew the exploits of the famed grand admiral who was currently slumped unconscious and bleeding on a stretcher.

“Please,” Tethys had managed, hand stained red with the blood he’d no doubt attempted to staunch, and Mevik escorted the admiral himself, holding back a string of audible curses whilst Tethys staggered back onto his ship. They could have that discussion once they’d plugged that hole up and assessed just how bad this whole thing was, and no doubt Tott would have a word to say, too. Three very important items to discuss on the top of his mental agenda already. Tethys brought nothing but trouble – Tott was right about that – and he always had done, but Mevik would help him nonetheless. He had promises to keep.

Sealing the bleeding wound – temporarily – wasn’t an arduous task, and Mevik had to wonder just how little Tethys had to spare that he couldn’t manage even that. What kind of idiot flew around collecting intel and making deliveries to all corners of the galaxy without any way to patch themselves up if things went south? He could almost hear Tott’s voice accompanying the thought.

Probably, Mevik reckoned, someone who didn’t really care if things went wrong. Not for themselves, anyway. A cursory glance at Tethys could all but confirm that guess. But he should be focussing on the admiral right now, not Tethys. As he set up a bright surgical light, he comm'd through to the chief medical officer and checked to see whether he could sequester one of the two medical droids they had aboard to assist him. He looked up and waited for Franklin to get back to him. Tott probably had his hands full keeping things in some semblance of order while he was busy, although if Tethys was going to take over that role it would be a great help, since it didn’t look like he would be coming to observe or explain himself any time soon. The exchange over the comm was short and the result expected: the droids were needed elsewhere. He gave his thanks and walked over to the admiral, unconscious, waiting. Mevik sighed.

Well, time to get to work.

\---

Tethys did end up joining him in the end. He refused to wait outside, flagrantly disregarding any procedures regarding health and safety, but given that the theatre wasn’t exactly nop-notch and lacking in sterility, Mevik pushed any qualms away from his tongue and accommodated Tethys’ heavy stare. Since the procedure was still under way, Mevik had to keep him to one side in order to concentrate. He could focus well enough when under pressure and sharing professional concentration with his peers, but even with Tethys to one side it was a struggle. 

Once he’d gotten the admiral stabilised and the worst had passed, which took longer than it should have, Mevik could finally relax a little and turn his attention to the onlooker. It wouldn’t have taken as long if he hadn’t had to guess at what sort of fluids would be safe for a Chiss – the name of the admiral’s species being the extent of his knowledge on the subject – and if he’d had some assistance, but Mevik wasn’t about to complain. There was no point; he’d gotten the job done and could take his time finishing up.  The admiral was, to use a human expression, out of the woods. The reason why he was bothering was another matter, one he’d tried to extract from Tethys and gotten the least helpful responses from.  ‘Unfinished business’. Oh, the mystery.

Tott found his way to the isolated medical bay shortly after Mevik finished a short break – which really wasn't so much a break as it was doing more work for other patients, all the while trying to ignore the ache in his temples for a few minutes. He really should have continued monitoring the admiral's condition to ensure he kept steady, but given the whole procedure had been a jumble of guesswork regarding fluid composition and oxygenation levels, he really didn't see the harm of leaving him alone for a few minutes. It's not like he'd have a clue what to do if there was a change for the worst – assuming he could figure out what that was. Besides, he wasn't alone – Tethys was there with that intense stare of his, and they had a way of contacting each other. He'd checked in again with Franklin while going around to offer advice and an extra pair of hands where needed. He’d even stopped to say a brief and surprised hello to the young boy that had been brought in with the admiral, miraculously lucid, and had only just made his way back when Tott pushed open the doors. Mevik smiled at his husband, but Tott instead ignored him, and only after a brief and caustic exchange with Tethys did he come over to see the damage to the admiral himself.

“Well he seems alright, but that chest wound isn’t really something we can deal with here long-term. Not that any of us want to besides. What were you thinking dragging them here?”  His tone was less hostile than Mevik had expected, though not entirely free from it; it seemed Tott’s anger had been drained and he was stewing in the dregs of his annoyance. 

Tethys didn’t look as though he wanted to respond, so Mevik took the opportunity to address his husband and try to explain. It had all happened so fast, he didn’t know whether or not he’d had been updated on the situation beyond taking aboard Imperials. He’d settled that they’d be handing off most of the rescued crew as soon as possible – the Imperial presence on Syydah was slim, but no doubt they’d find the resources to care for their own and get them seen to. The trick would be getting it done quickly and quietly. 

“Listen, Kaeden was right to flag us down when she spotted what was going on and he was right to bring aboard as many as he could. Crazy bastard.” Tethys was in no position to be charging into catastrophes to rescue Imperial forces, not least because of his stance against the Empire, but Mevik had to admire the nerve of it. It felt like dealing with the old Tethys again, those few interactions they’d had, when he used a different alias. Mevik knew his actual name, of course, although Tethys had never told him and it was something he went to great lengths to hide away. He looked him in the eyes, then, and saw how tired he looked, a deep-set exhaustion that no amount of temporary invigoration could lift. Despite blowing out the small hyperdrive on the reckless short-distance jump, his shuttle apparently looked like it may have survived a third, albeit longer, trip. The pilot did not. Tethys looked like he might fall over. Mevik had wanted to argue against Tott earlier that this human was unlikely to get caught and have a connection traced back to them, because he wasn’t one to slip up, but seeing him now put heavy doubt on those thoughts. He was trembling, more like some kind of involuntary shudder, and staring absently at the unconscious patient. Mevik reckoned he hadn’t even taken a moment to breathe before finding his way here. He looked at him pointedly. “You’re a crazy one you know that right?”

“I’m aware, yes.”

“You may as well have offered your ship up for destruction too.”

“Well, we all got here alive, and I’m hoping we’ll all be here that way too.”

Tott turned his interest from the admiral to Tethys, then.

“Well we can’t  _ keep _ him here—” he protested.

Mevik cut in. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

Tott was right, of course. The very fact that Mevik alone had done what he could to treat _ Grand Admiral Thrawn _ was proof that no-one wanted this burden. Even he didn’t want this burden, but since Tethys had come to him, it meant this was important, and Mevik trusted his crew but he didn’t think they’d let an opportunity to have this life just fade away slide all things considered. With the two medical droids occupied with worse cases he’d just hurried his way through it, hoping that he hadn’t underestimated the severity of the situation. Still, it had turned out alright and now all that was left was to keep him stable, finish things up and let him recuperate. Mevik held back a grimace and strengthened his resolve.

“Leave it to me. I’m sure Tethys will get him out of your way soon as can be.”

“Right.” Tott was unconvinced.

Tethys looked to him. “I won’t put your people in danger. You just happened to be close enough to reach.”

His husband sighed, and walked with no amount of concealed displeasure to the door.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

After Tott had left, Mevik sighed too. Clearly he was going to hear the continuation of this once they had some time alone together. He shrugged nonchalantly at Tethys with a throwaway smile. “Don’t mind him. He’s always like that.”

“I see.”

He looked exhausted. Mevik surveyed the threadbare man with no amount of concealed worry. He’d be lying to himself if he didn’t think it looked pathetic, just a little. The thought shocked him. He shouldn’t be thinking like that. How shameful. Mevik winced and went over the motions checking his patient over. He could talk to Tethys as he finished up. Mild head trauma, additional blunt trauma and laceration across the chest and the briefest exposure to the vacuum of space. He was far from the worst of the survivors. Really it was the aftercare they couldn’t handle. Ideally he’d be resting for several days and kept stable, but Mevik would not allow them to be jeopardised for that. He’d just have to send the admiral on his way and hope his condition did not worsen. Mevik was certain, however, that the ‘unfinished business’ Tethys had mentioned by way of an explanation for needing to save the admiral’s life, removed the potential need for seeking further medical aid after leaving the station.

“You’ve not met Tott before, right?” Mevik felt strange making small talk, but it was equally difficult for him to open up a conversation with something more serious. He’d have to take steps up there.

“No,” Tethys answered. Tethys did not meet his eyes. “Been together long?”

“A few years.”

“Well then what was your excuse?” Mevik threw him a questioning look. “If grumpy fools were your weakness then why is it I never caught your eye, hm? Not even one drink?”

Mevik smiled despite himself. Tethys was trying to avoid a difficult conversation with humour, but he would not let that slide. Clearly, he knew what Mevik was going to ask. He ought not to disappoint, then.

“Are you  _ sure _ you don’t want to rest while you’re here? Not that I don’t appreciate the extra hand you gave in the hangar but—”

Predictably, Mevik knew what the reply would be also: “I’m fine, thank you. I don’t need charity.”

“I see. And him?”

Mevik angled himself back to the unconscious admiral, but kept his gaze to the side to watch Tethy’s reaction. He was stable, but whether he stayed that way was not his decision. Tethys did not answer immediately. The moment stretched out, and Mevik wondered if the man was reconsidering. Tethys just stared at the admiral, and Mevik stared at Tethys. He didn’t understand him half the time.

“Just do your best, Mevik.” A small flicker of something across his face. His voice was low, quiet. “Take care of him.”

“You think I wouldn’t?” He gestured to the unconscious body and sighed. “Thing that gets me is  you asked me to fix him up just so you can kill him yourself.”

“I’m still debating that part.”

Mevik chuckled. Of course he was. Too many things to consider, no doubt. Too many pros and cons to way up. Clearly something was going on between the two he wasn’t privy to, because the answer seemed easy enough. If Tethys had gone to the trouble of hauling the Imperial out of a burnt-out Star Destroyer then he must surely want him alive. Mevik wouldn’t have bothered. But he now had a patient in front of him, and while he’d never taken a doctor’s oath he had a duty of care for those on his ship. No, he’d put aside the morals of saving a non-human who was complicit in hunting down folks he went out of his way to help for now. He’d just let him possibly be murdered after sending him off. Moral quandary solved. Mevik sighed.

“Please,” came the response. It was an empty word.

Mevik tried to ignore how pitiful Tethys sounded again, and how guilty he felt at such an observation. This really wasn’t the man he was familiar with. He sighed again and held a hand up to appease him.

“Alright alright.  Look, he isn’t that bad, so I’ll do my best to keep him that way but no promises. I’m no professional – did you know I actually tried for med school before?” The raised brow told Mevik that clearly Tethys hadn’t, and so he shrugged. They weren’t really too close despite Tethys’ teasing, so it must’ve slipped his mind to say. What was stranger was that Tethys hadn’t found out. It’s not like Mevik’s past was buried deep or intentionally hidden. He didn’t have anything he wanted to forget, either. Surely Tethys had done some digging? Then again, he could’ve been lying for some reason. He was a decent actor. “Never qualified. And I’m certainly not a medic now by any sort of choice you know.”

“That fills me with a lot of confidence. How’s Ezra?”

“The kid?” Tethys nodded to confirm. “Yeah, kid’s alright. He was banged up pretty bad but he came round a  short while  ago. Hypoxia hardly touched him, though. You not seen him yet?” From what he’d managed to gather from the boy, it seemed as though the two had spoken before. Ezra had certainly perked up at the description of his saviour. It seemed strange that Tethys had stuck with observing  _ Thrawn _ after returning, rather than Ezra. ‘ _Unfinished business_ ’ indeed.

“No. I just wanted to double-check with you first.”

“Hm.” It wasn’t as if he needed permission. Perhaps he simply feared the worst and wanted to know if he’d be visiting a child’s corpse. The morbid thought disturbed Mevik. All this death and stress was getting to him. “Well, I’ll escort you to him if you want. Just ask. He seemed eager to see you.”

“You think?”

“To thank the man who saved him, sure. He also wanted to know what was happening and send word to someone. I wasn’t familiar with the name: Sabine. I don’t suppose you can work your magic to help the kid out?”

“Mm.” He looked his way pointedly. “And you're sure that you can take care of him?”

“Don’t be daft, Tethys. He’s pretty much all patched up, and of course I’ll keep a close eye on him while he recovers. Can’t say for sure about how the rest will feel though, given he was shipped in on that ISD. Perhaps if you stayed and had a word with them  at least it’d be better? You know how paranoid they are— ”

“I don’t do that anymore,” Tethys answered sharply. “I’ve got places to be.”

“Right.” That was a shame. Mevik could do with a small morale boost – some of his wards knew of Tethys’ former exploits and would feel better having a word from him regarding the sudden influx of Imperial passengers. It wasn’t exactly a secret, but it didn’t stop the unrest. Tethys could’ve also helped with planning the “getting rid of them” stage.  Could be helping with all of it in fact. He wasn’t just a good tactician, but a good leader. A good man. Well, Mevik was doing this because it was the right thing to do, certainly not because he wanted to help the admiral out in any way. Helping Tethys, though… they were colleagues of a sort, of course, and didn’t really owe each  _ other _ anything, but Mevik couldn’t ignore the obligation pawing at his ankles. Still, he didn’t  _ have _ to do any of this,  and with this level of risk it was a bad idea to have gotten involved. But he  _ needed _ his help. If not now, when?

He looked at Tethys silently, trying to figure it out. He didn’t understand how that human’s mind worked, and now it was even harder.  He sighed. Obligations. He’d promised.  The pause between them stretched out and still Tethys refused to elaborate, could barely maintain eye contact. His dark eyes kept flicking up to him, then to the admiral, then to the side – and then they stopped for a moment. 

Tethys narrowed his eyes. “You’re not telling me something.”

That’s fine; there was a lot Tethys wasn’t telling him, either. “It’s nothing, Tethys. Don’t worry your head about it. Look, he’s hardly the worst of the survivors, but you know we don’t have the resources to waste. I’ll try my best but no promises.”

“Of course.” Tethys smiled at him weakly, dropping the unspoken subject. “You have my thanks, Mevik. What do I owe you? I did add a lot of strain to the colony after all.”

“Nonsense – you were hardly the only one to show up with passengers. If it helps, think of it as a favour I owed.”

“I don’t believe you’ve owed me anything.” Tethys looked him over, as if the action of reviewing him would somehow jog his memory.

“Then don’t worry.”

“In the years we’ve known each other, you think I’ll take that as an answer? It’s dangerous for you to do this, even more when you have nothing to gain, don’t you think? I can’t promise I’ll help you out in return.”

Mevik scoffed. “I’m not asking you to. I’ve been on the end of a different ‘favour’ I’m owed for a little while now and I highly doubt I’ll get a return. Even if promises are made, there’s no guarantee they will be honoured, so I’ll just stick to helping you because I’m nice.”

He saw Tethys flinch at that. He hadn’t really meant for it to come off as something meant to hurt him, and he hoped Tethys understood that, but he thought better of making a point of it by apologising. No point, to use an expression he’d heard, rubbing salt in the wound. It wasn’t surprising Tethys was upset by those words; he’d spent years of his life helping people simply out of a sense of altruism after all. If anything, that exchange made it clearer to Mevik that Tethys wasn’t just cautious just because things went bad for him, but that he hadn’t expected them to. It was a strange thing to consider, given Tethys had always come off as a little paranoid himself and never fully trusted anyone, even when they’d worked together in the past. Seems whatever trust he’d had was lost. Perhaps that was why he didn’t work with groups anymore, why he kept what he knew to himself. Guess he thought it was safer when information was sold by him and only applied by others. 

In the end it made no difference whether Tethys thought he was owed a favour or not. He certainly didn’t need to know who had earned it for him, or that it had been owed for a long, long time.

He looked over Tethys again and softened. He tilted his head towards the door.

“You should get some rest, Tethys. After speaking to Ezra, of course. I’ll take care of things.”

“I’ll see what I can manage.” Tethys offered something that could’ve been a brief smile before he obliged and walked towards the door. He paused, his hand resting in the frame as the door bolt slid out with a pneumatic croak. He spoke, but he didn’t turn around. His voice was thick, quiet. “And again, thanks. I’ll come by to pick him up before things boil over.”

“See you then.”

\---

Tethys kept to himself for the following days, meeting with Mevik only briefly at the admiral’s room after Mevik had finished relocating him. He’d only come to hand over a mouse droid of all things, which Mevik could “make use of however he saw fit”, and to stare at the unconscious Imperial for a short, vacant while before returning to his ship. He’d offered a room again, and Tethys had refused again. Not too polite about it either, but this seemed to be how he was now. It was strange, even as the years got harder and he grew more steely, more determined, more tired and on edge, Tethys had always retained a  sense of good humour. Tott didn’t care, but then he wasn’t acquainted with the man Tethys once was. Still was. It was hard to say.

It was also hard to say anything about the  admiral . Mevik hadn’t held any expectations of him besides the rumours of his ruthless efficiency and bizarre situation as the only non-human so high in the ranks of the Imperial Navy, but upon  his waking it was hard to make any sort of judgement. He didn’t give much to go on.  The admiral was polite, but it was difficult to determine whether that was genuine or simply performance. He was also quiet and seemingly interested in everything around him. He made no demands – aside from a peculiar request to know his  _ name _ of all things, though of course he was not so foolish as to give him anything to go on – and he sat silently in his room. Not that he was fit to be marching around scheming or vowing revenge or whatever it was admirals did when captured – which Mevik reckoned was never – but the lack of response of any kind was weird.

Tott, who had yet to see the admiral once he was awake, agreed with him. 

“Sounds a bit ominous. But surely that’s all part of it, right? He’s playing nice in the hopes of getting some information or preferential treatment. He knows we’d have killed him by now if we wanted to. He’s playing us.”

Mevik nodded. “I know.”

His husband pressed closer against him on the chaise longue. After the mad rush of the past few days, this was the first time they’d been able to spend some time with each other off-duty and awake, and though Mevik was a little annoyed Tott was bringing up a subject that required considerable thought and attention, he couldn’t blame him; worries  regarding the admiral had been pressing on his mind also. 

“So he’s actually awake now?”

“Yes,” Mevik replied. The admiral seemed to have spent the majority of his time drifting in and out of  consciousness , and apparently not really remaining lucid long enough to remember his check-ins or answer any questions about his biology that could have helped ease his troubles. Still, he’d managed to work the sedative off well enough, and his condition was vastly improved following the op. Given that, Mevik knew what Tott’s next question would be.

“Does that mean we can get rid of him now?”

Mevik laughed at how predictable the timing was, and Tott rubbed his leg up and down in a manner of disapproval. Mevik sat up, disentangling himself from the embrace. His husband stared at him expectantly, lips pouting and brow creased. It wasn’t genuine annoyance, and if anything it was an endearing look on him. Not exactly cute, but a little hard to take seriously. Mevik didn’t have to, though – he knew when Tott was serious and when he was angry, and when he was seriously angry. The concern was real, though, and sensible.

He gave it a moment’s pause, thinking it over as he stared at his husband. Probably should have spent more time doing the thinking rather than getting lost in all those features that had grown so familiar. He answered when Tott nudged him again.

“Yes, I think so. Should just be a matter of getting him out of bed. He looked as though he’d be able to walk when I checked.”  Whether the grand admiral – or perhaps  _ former _ grand admiral? –  _ should _ be walking was another question. Regardless, Mevik knew there’d be an insistence on it by all parties that he wouldn’t be able to argue against. “I’ll also need to get a hold of Tethys. Oh, and clear the corridors so we can just get him without drawing too much attention. Not sure folks would be happy if we restricted them to their rooms again so it’ll just have to be a quick thing.”

Mevik sighed and stretched, arching his back before pushing himself off and onto the floor of their bedroom. As he trailed his gaze across their living quarters he could hear Tott groan as he followed suit. A double bed, a small ‘fresher, a temperamental sink above it and bare walls all around. The only item of opulence they shared was the chaise longue. No decorations, commemorations of their years together, of hard work and small victories. Despite all the time, they’d never had a second to waste or funds to spare for comfort. Life never got easier.

He hailed Tethys’ ship, watching Tott’s impatience swell rapidly as he waited for the call to connect. It didn’t take very long, but by the time he got through to him, Tott was already slumped back on the chair, lekku twitching. He really did have no patience. Or rather, once the implication that things were to be done were set in his head, he expected immediate action. 

“Hello?” Tethys’ bleary voice answered.

“Tethys, it’s Mevik. We’re aiming to get the admiral shipped off A.S.A.P, so I’ll be heading down to meet you in the docking bay shortly. Is that alright?”

“Mm. Okay, see you then.”

Tethys had been staying on his ship, so he only had to wait in place, but from the sounds of it he’d need some time to clear his head and wake up. Next was to coordinate the staff, volunteers and passengers. He plotted out as short a route as he could with Tott’s help, and then relayed the plan to his peers as swiftly as both appliance and efficient speech allowed – all still too slow for the fidgety twi’lek he called his husband. He hadn’t even finished the conversation with Mei, Hannek and Le’nir – his designated corridor-clearers – before there was a brush against his shoulder and Tott had whispered that he was off to fetch the admiral, not allowing any time for objection. Hopefully he’d make a good impression. Kaeden was still hanging around the med bays – and bless her for staying as long as she had, Mevik’s staff wouldn’t have been able to cope without her knowledge, diligence and charity – but otherwise the route should be clear; most traffic inwards had settled down, and they hadn’t started offloading the rest of their Imperial guests, so all should work out smoothly provided his crew worked fast. 

Mevik sighed, slumping his shoulders and taking a second to inhale deeply, a pointless attempt to clear his head, before he hauled the mouse droid out from the lone chest fused to the walls of his shared bedroom and headed towards the hangar bay. 

\---

Tethys was sitting on the open ramp of his shuttle, half-slumped over against the sides of the doorway. At first glance Mevik couldn’t tell if he was unconscious, certainly wasn’t paying attention to his surroundings, but the human perked up when approached, and offered a small wave in greeting.

“Oh, you don’t have to stand,” Mevik protested.

“Too late,” Tethys replied half-way through swinging unsteadily to his feet. He switched to speaking in Basic. “Oof. Not as easy as it used to be. My hair’ll be going white next.”

Mevik frowned, looking over the unkempt locks of long hair. Seemed like he wasn’t putting much thought into maintaining his appearance nowadays. “Yeah, looks like it,” he jested, and caught a small smile flicker at Tethys’ lips. His sense of humour was not all gone then.

“So,” Mevik started, not really sure how to continue. 

After a few seconds of taut silence without Tethys providing any follow-up, Mevik cleared his throat and tried again. Direct was best. “I’ve sent Tott to collect the admiral, so they should be here in a few minutes. What will you say to him?”

Tethys shrugged. “Not sure. I’ve not thought about it.”

Mevik pushed away astonishment – and outright admonishment – and tried another route. “Well, I hope you don’t expect me to do any explaining. I don’t want to say a word to him.”

“Fair enough. Though, he’ll want to know what happened to his crew.”

“Tough. He leaves here with you not knowing, and if he doesn’t I’ll shoot him. Or, Tott will. I’m not risking this operation to satisfy his curiosity, and he’s certainly not welcome here any longer.”

Tethys stared. Then shrugged. “Fair enough. He’ll come with me, though.”

“You sure about that?”

His eyes flashed something bright and pained. A certainty, their tangled history unspoken. “Yes.”

Mevik eyed him then put his hands up to acquiesce. He raised them only briefly, his right arm hurting from the exterior of the mouse droid digging into him under his arm. He shifted it. If Tethys was certain then he had no reason to argue. All that mattered to him was getting the admiral off his station, followed by the others. “Alright, alright. Just making sure. The last thing I want is to have to drug him in order to pile him onto your shuttle.” 

“What happened to shooting him?”

“Oh that’s last resort.” He didn’t even have a gun on him right now – probably not wise. No doubt Tethys would’ve spotted that. “As long as he leaves peacefully then I’ll be satisfied. We’ll work on shifting the others next.”

Tethys hummed in response. He blinked, and stared out across the hangar bay. Mevik followed suit, looking over the few other volunteer shuttles that had stayed to help with the mess, at the lone TIE ship that had sputtered its way here. Some of the other pilots had made it where their ships hadn’t, but even this one was only just salvageable. He had no idea what sort of specific class the ship was nor anything about the pilot, only knew that they’d insisted upon going back to sweep the area of the wreckage after arriving exhausted and dazed – though not concussed – with another human crammed into that tiny  space; Mevik’s crew hadn’t been able to shut them up, so they’d let  them do so after pulling out any wiring that would allow for communication of any sort. In that little box there was really no way of them making any sort of long-distance trip. That thing wouldn’t even make it planetside in one piece.

He cleared his throat again and turned attention back to Tethys. He was forgetting to say something, he was sure of it… After a moment it came to him, and he looked down at his side. “Oh! You’ll need this back then.” He offered up the mouse droid Tethys had provided them with. It had done a good enough job as an emergency comm keeping an eye on the admiral, but it had only been lent to them.

“Ah, little pet? No, I think you should keep them.”

Mevik retracted his hands a little, not entirely. He frowned. “Really? You seem so fond of it.” It was there, in his eyes. He looked at the little black box with a strange sort of kindness. It was odd how often sentient beings imprinted on machines. Tott was similar. Mevik couldn’t really draw the association between a living yet non-sentient animal and a wholly artificial non-sentient toolbox on wheels, but it didn’t exactly hurt anybody to do so. “Isn’t this your companion?”

Mevik snickered. “Oh, it’s fine. This little one has kept me company a while but I think you’d have better use for it. I think your operation could do with some extra hands on deck so to speak.” He said that, but Tethys still reached out to pat the thing gently, as if petting some kind of small animal. His eyes were weary.

“Where’d you even get this thing?”

“Off an ISD – not the one outside in case you're wondering.” 

Mevik chuckled. He couldn’t tell if Tethys was joking, but knowing him he may well have snuck onboard a ship and stolen it during the height of his career. Hearing footsteps, he flicked an eye to the side and saw the approach of Tott and the admiral. He raised a hand in greeting, welcoming Tott over, and caught Tethys turning to look their way as well. He considered switching back to Twi’leki, wondering if any last bit of conversation should be kept private, or if he should make sure Tethys was alright – he hadn’t planned out anything to say after all – but thought better of it. Perhaps he’d get a better feel for the two if he could see the admiral’s reaction to the following exchange. He raised his voice a little, making sure he could be heard while addressing the man hiding as Tethys.

“So as I said he's been under GA so he may not be all himself. Will you make sure he gets back home okay?”

Nevil Cygni turned to meet Admiral Thrawn's astounded gaze and said: “That's the plan.”

\---

Mevik was pretty sure he’d never hear or see from Tethys ever again as he watched the shuttle leave his station, underside blackened with ash and rear engines struggling with their meagre load. Stubborn until the end, Tethys had refused to let Mevik’s crew perform any decent repairs.

The thought didn’t really bother him personally, but the obligation set in his heart did not lessen. Channelling ghosts, emotions that weren’t his own. It was a strange thing to know that their goodbye was so lacking. Mevik sighed. His husband said nothing and put a hand on his shoulder. His lek twitched and swung in a small arc away from his chest.

Mevik replied in kind, assuring Tott that he was alright.

He hadn’t managed to get a handle on what Tethys was planning or feeling beyond the obvious fact that he was hurting greatly, but he was building a lot of walls, and clearly it wasn’t for Mevik to get a peek through or over them. He wasn’t sure if he was even invested enough with their odd relationship to give it an earnest go. Maybe the admiral, with whatever strange connection they shared, could help. Dissecting the inside of Tethys’ head would surely be a battle, of sorts. If Mevik didn't know any better from the look he'd seen on the admiral's face, he'd swear he'd swear the alien  _ wanted _ to do it. 

The thought made him snicker. What a strange and dangerous life Tethys must’ve led to catch the attention of the singularly unique grand admiral of the Imperial Navy.

Well, at the rate he was going, the wall around Tethys would come down one way or another. Hopefully it just wouldn’t be on top of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 5..... at some point. In the mean time, if you spot any of the cameos I snuck in, do let me know


	5. Want You Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thrawn follows Nevil Cygni onto the ship. He doesn't know where he's going, or why this man is alive, but he would. He was going to get some answers.
> 
> He doesn't get very far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter warrants a trigger warning probably, but it's spoilery for what happens. Please check in the ending notes for more details/a summary! Today I bring you more Thrawn trying to think a lot and angst.
> 
> [[ TW: suffocation (no strangulation!), knife usage (sorta), paralysis and a vaguely described panic attack and general nausea. ]]   
> If you want to skip the worst of it, stop at "He couldn’t breathe." and resume reading at "With a violent lurch that pushed Thrawn’s chair back onto its hind legs for a moment, Cygni stood himself up."

Cygni did not so much as glance his way when Thrawn joined him on the ship. He had moved on ahead, down a slim corridor that branched off the small space that Thrawn was now standing in. It wasn’t a cargo bay – too small for that – but there was not any other apparent use for the room other than as an atrium to welcome crew aboard. Perhaps personal belongings could be stored here where room was insufficient in quarters, or perhaps some other equipment. Spare parts. Instead, the small area was empty. Thrawn looked about it with scrutiny. The inside seemed no more cared for than the hull’s exterior. Thrawn frowned at a large panel peeling away from the wall, revealing internal wires and pipes. This did not bode well. Still, if Cygni was using the transport it would be safe to travel in. He had always taken the utmost of caution in their dealings.

The thought persisted, like something of an argument against his own observations, as he followed after the fading echoes of footsteps down the ship. A small toolbox was left ajar against the wall of the corridor, another panel deliberately opened above it, sitting around his chest height, and clearly in the midst of being repaired in some way. With a cursory glance Thrawn could make no attempt to guess at what the problem might be, though he had never been most attuned to such work – his studies of electronic engineering had always been limited to his particular fields of interest. His oversight of the function of his ships had been holistic, and needing to understand the wiring of an access panel had never been necessary. Each person of a ship’s crew had their expertise and use. He wondered absently how deep Cygni’s knowledge of such an area might be, if it was among the multitude of skills he possessed and had demonstrated.

Again, the thought was odd, ringing and insistent. He frowned, but struggled to think of how to take it further. Cygni was a competent and intelligent individual, he had no doubts about that. Was it the wiring itself that mattered? He looked again to the yawning gap in the wall, its exposed wiring, jutting out at him like some mismatched puzzle piece. He lingered. 

Thrawn couldn’t understand it; why was he hesitating? A warrior had little time for indecision, and uncertainty had no place in his mind. What reason did he have to doubt? He was familiar with Nightswan – with Cygni. They had spent the better part of a decade entangled together. He knew him. He did not know Cygni to be reckless, to attempt at fixing problems outside his scope and without any assistance, but if Cygni had been the one to retrieve him from the damaged _Chimaera_ , as he suspected was the case, that would have been reckless, too.

Perhaps he had misunderstood.

The sound of engines firing behind him and a hum in front made clear that Cygni had reached the cockpit of the vessel. He shook his head of the daze and continued his swift march forward to follow after Cygni. He very nearly collided with something, abruptly stopping as his vision was obscured by a metal overhang. How odd. He blinked, then took a step back to assess. The arched doorways were a little smaller than the full circumference of the corridor, and a little too small for both Cygni and himself to walk through at full height. Ducking down to pass through, Thrawn took quick and careful steps forwards towards the bow of the vessel, trying to shake off his fatigue. His body resisted sharp or fast movements, but unlike before it was not an external force pushing him to hurry but his own desires. He should calm himself, he knew, but seeking out Cygni was imperative. He stumbled a moment on that, very nearly physically. Out of sorts. What reason did he have to make haste, when they were both together on this vessel with naught else to do, nowhere to go?

Cygni was not far ahead of him; slipping past a juncture which branched into another, slimmer corridor to his right, and a small inset housing a mechanical lever on his left, Thrawn now stood at the helm of the ship. It was a somewhat wider yet still cramped space, home to a pair of seats for pilot and co-pilot, with scarce enough room between them to allow a human to stand face-on. No doubt Cygni had to sidle through sideways or climb into the chair. He considered knocking against the metal walls to announce his arrival, but instead opted for a traditional opener for conversation.

“Cygni,” he said softly, as if not to intrude. The man tensed – his shoulders pulling and shifting beneath a beige, off-colour shirt, its sleeves frayed at the ends where Cygni had been reaching across to flick a switch – and growled at him. He did not turn around.

“Go occupy yourself in the commons, I’m a tad busy.” 

Thrawn blinked. He gave a moment’s pause before obliging, hearing Cygni’s voice fade into quiet behind him as he travelled back the way he came to the now-closed entry hatch and beyond it. He stood between two doors, spaced out on opposite sides of the slim corridor with strips of light above them, one of which was blinking. There was another panel hanging open on the face of that door. It didn’t lock properly: the seal was not fully flush, unlike as it was with the other. He wondered what was behind them. Quarters, perhaps? He thought of their layout, chiral, mirrored opposites, and shook his head. It was frustrating, how weary he felt, and how these conclusions seemed to come so slowly. He slipped through another doorway as the ship rumbled and took flight, entering a small open cavity with a single incongruous table welded to the floor and dim lights spread across the ceiling. He presumed this was the only communal space on the vessel save for the atrium at the entry hatch – though despite Cygni’s words he would hardly call “communal” an apt descriptor for either.

The dimensions of the vessel were awkward and jaunty, and from the cursory examination and brief travel along its length Thrawn presumed that this room was probably the only one large enough to host a table and multiple seats in one area without getting in the way of efficient travel through the ship. It was hard to be certain without another examination. Despite this, the space was not designed to host socialisation of multiple persons. Its use as such was incidental, haphazard. A makeshift spot.

He frowned. Tried again. Given the size of the vessel as he’d seen from the outside and its internal layout, this was likely a personal transport. There was nothing to indicate compartments, discreet or otherwise, for cargo storage, nor any way of safely securing property. It did not make sense for the ship to be used commercially, even by an individual trader. There was also no commercial transport designation emblazoned on the ship’s sides as would be typical, though if Cygni was using the vessel it may have been shorn away to prevent easy identification. There was a distinct thrum followed by the lurch of a shifting into hyperspace and Thrawn began factoring in this additional information. 

If this were an escape pod or scouting vessel, which may necessitate the need for a hyperdrive engine, then he would have expected it to be smaller, and for a room such as this to be unnecessary. The fact that such a space, no matter how small, existed, denoted a vital function. It implied accommodation – and yet it was hardly furnished. What race designed a vessel for long-term travel and habitation, but without such space as to allow for comfort or accompaniment?

He considered the possibility of scale, a race of smaller proportions may find this area more accommodating, and the tight corridors and doorways supported such, but the console Cygni was seated at was sized for efficient human operation – no buttons out of reach of average arm-span, and sized and spaced well enough to prevent an accidental press. From the cursory glance at he’d seen of the ship’s shape he could not ascertain what species the design originated from, and the inside made little sense. The state of disrepair did not help in his analysis, as there was always the possibility further modifications had been made which could mask the ship’s origins. Either way, Thrawn felt confident that this ship was designed for the use and occupation of a single inhabitant at any one time. And yet there were two seats at the helm, sized for the average human and cramped together.

Why, then, had Cygni bothered to create a space inviting for another when there was no evidence of another living person onboard?

With a quiet and forced exhale, Thrawn turned his head from such analysis and pulled a chair out from the table. A cushion slid off from it, and he bent down to pick it up and placed it back on the seat. The other chair was a different design: smaller and matching the table, more fitting to the architecture of the ship. Sitting, his knees came to the edge of the table, and he looked down at them. His uniform trousers were scuffed, still bearing the marks of the aftermath of his miscalculation – his mistake. It felt strange to look at them, but even stranger to look at his hands, fingers curled and knuckles pointed upwards as they lay on his legs. A scab was beginning to form on one joint, and on other hand was the medical gauze sealed over the area the cannula had been inserted. Thrawn blinked. He was tempted, for the strangest moment, to laugh.

How bizarre this situation had become. How utterly, perfectly strange this all was.

He clenched his fists tighter and screwed his eyes shut, breathing deeply again to fight back those thoughts, those uncomfortable chords of regret and exhaustion that were pulling tighter about him with each second.

The footsteps that were growing closer provided suitable distraction. They came from the bow of the ship, the tinny echoes on metal flooring resounding far down the corridors. Cygni’s pace was a little slower than it had been when Thrawn had entered the ship, he thought, and uneven. The gait indicated an injury. It helped to focus on that.

Thrawn opened his eyes.

“Is your leg injured?” he asked.

Cygni hesitated in the frame of the doorway then scowled.

“Stood up awkwardly, that’s all,” he responded curtly. Thrawn nodded. He hadn’t noticed it before, so he was reassured that his level of observation and attention to Cygni was sufficient, despite his fatigue. Perhaps the dimensions or positioning of the pilot seat was unsuitable for the space in front of it. Thrawn had been unable to discern the leg-space offered in the cockpit with the seat, but it was likely to be cramped as the corridors were. No doubt Cygni would avoid possible injury if he simply removed the additional pilot seat. But that was unimportant. Now that he was with Cygni he ought not to waste time, and he couldn’t afford to let concentration slip when asking questions and receiving answers. He came here for information. 

“You were reported deceased at Batonn. Evidently you survived; how?”

“Oh, you could’ve started with a ‘hello’ or ‘how are you?’ at the least,” Cygni said. No, he almost bit it out. Thrawn frowned. He couldn’t readily discern that tone. It was unfamiliar to him. His instinct was it was upset. Although he did recall Eli mentioning Cygni had an underlying humour to his words that Thrawn himself had not noticed. Cygni’s expression didn’t portray jest, however, and neither did the flush of his skin. Biology did not lie – it could only be misinterpreted. Thrawn deliberated on how to respond. In the end honesty and curiosity won out.

“...  _ Are _ you well?”

From the minute shift in his facial expression and small burst of heat in his cheeks, Thrawn could see that Cygni had not expected that answer. Perhaps it had been his tone – he certainly had not spoken without compassion. After a pause, Cygni folded his arms over his chest. He turned his head to one side, not looking at Thrawn when he replied. “I got lucky.”

“Pardon?”

“At the Mining Complex. I got lucky; many others didn’t. Tell me, is this going to be an interrogation? You just shoot a load of questions my way and expect me to tell you everything? Will I get a chance to ask you something?” 

His eyes flicked back to Thrawn, rich and dark. Thrawn paused again to consider, and chose his words carefully. Cygni seemed agitated.

“You are welcome to ask me questions in return. This discourse can be an exchange of information between us.” Thrawn raised a palm up as he spoke, as if to invite further discussion. It was a particular gesture he’d picked up from Eli. He had found over the years that most humans seemed to gesticulate more than he himself did, and while he hadn’t intended to follow suit such behaviour had now become habitual.

Moments passed, and Thrawn felt the air tense, grow taut like Cygni was. His body was held rigid, his face stern and eyes flashing between staring at Thrawn and looking pointedly away.

“Do you not wish to speak?”

“I figured you could do the asking first,” Cygni said. Did he not  _ have _ questions to ask in return? Perhaps he was testing him. He did not think Cygni had anything to gain from withholding his own questions first – after all the human surely knew more about what was happening than he did. No matter, either one would make clear what Cygni wished and intended. 

“Very well. What happened to the Seventh Fleet? The _Chimaera_?”

“What makes you think I know that?”

“You do,” Thrawn answered plainly. Cygni had no doubt rescued him, and likely Bridger also, so it was doubtless he’d seen the aftermath. Thrawn also suspected, no, he  _ knew _ , that Cygni held information regarding the other ships, what exactly had gone wrong and where they all were. He somewhat hoped that Cygni did not know the reason  _ why _ Thrawn had ended up here, or how. “What happened?”

Cygni shifted and pushed himself away from his position leaning against the wall. As his back straightened, rolling like a smooth waveform, Thrawn followed the movement and looked over Cygni once more. He was drawn to the hollow and dull rattle of the pouch on his belt, to the shift of his trousers, to the hang of his arms at his side, and curled, gloved fists, and the thin tread of his worn boots. His attire was much like what he’d been wearing when they’d first met, though he looked more unkempt. Thrawn recalled the way the dust had clung to his clothes and hair, some metallic filings peppered in the dark patches and in the creases of his gloves, shimmering. He could not take in all the detail he wished to. Cygni’s footfall was heavy and stride rigid as he walked along the edge of the room.

He stopped in front of the wall, blank save for a series of rectangular outlines, and waited for a moment. His back was tense. Thrawn watched him raise his right arm to the grooves. They were doors, Thrawn realised abruptly, blended into the wall, and Cygni pushed against the corner of one. Nothing happened. Cygni clicked his tongue and tried again, pressing his right hand harder, a sharp jab with the heel of his palm. The door did unlatch then, hanging ajar before Cygni hooked his fingers beneath the small gap and pulled it open. It seemed to take some effort, or was fiddly work. Not designed for the width of his fingertips. Thrawn watched expectantly, silent, as Cygni then repeated the procedure with two other panels beneath: one swung down to sit as a work surface and the other Cygni eased out before it dropped down and seemed to lock into place – a sink unit. Thrawn fascinated over the utility of the space, yet wondered why it was even hidden. If this ship was designed for habitation would it not be more efficient to have utensils and facilities easily accessible? He pursed his lips, continuing to watch as Cygni grasped at a glass and extracted it from the cupboard, followed by another.

His movements were slow and purposeful, and he favoured moving his right arm almost entirely. He caught a glimpse of Cygni’s dark skin as he stretched his arm and the cuff of his sleeve fell, and watched the fold of his shirt at his shoulder and elbow, saw Cygni tilt his head to the side as he placed the glasses in the sink and turned on the tap. His hair was loose. The dim lighting did not hinder his own vision as much as the fatigue did, though Thrawn did not believe it was suitably bright for human eyes, and as such Thrawn could see the slim braids that ran from his scalp were thicker and looser than he recalled, their previous structure undone. The fine black coils unravelled nearer the ends. His hair was shorter, too. Had he cut it?

His eyes wandered up to Cygni’s neck as he turned, holding a glass in each hand, and he saw the blanched skin that bloomed there like a pale ink stain, and wondered then if Cygni had had little choice in the length of his hair. Perhaps it simply hadn’t grown back to his preferred length. Burn scars were raised in a small swathe on his face, the fraying edges of a mesh that spread from his throat. They were pale and gleaming, pinching into sharp points across one cheek, and the skin had pulled taut at the corner of his left eye and lips. Thrawn did not know much about such injuries, certainly not in humans, outside of the cauterisation of blaster wounds, but they did not look severe – that or treatment had been successful. From the glimpse he got beneath Cygni’s shirt as the man leant to offer him a glass, Thrawn imagined that the scarring would be more expansive over his chest.

He’d overfilled the glass – the water swayed and rivulets fell down the sides by his dark fingers. Thrawn had always found it fascinating how the palms of humans were different in pigmentation. The contrast was far more pronounced on Cygni than he had noted on Eli. Chiss did not exhibit such a trait. He accepted the drink with a silent nod of thanks, blinked when their fingers met, and looked to them before Cygni pulled his hand away. His fingernails were bitten short and the skin at the edge of his thumb worried at, picked and peeled.

Something dormant stretched inside Thrawn then, and became tangible. He looked down to the glass held between his palms, fingers interlocking lightly as he cupped it. It was round in shape and curved even towards the rim. It was incongruous with the ship’s design. One of Cygni’s possessions, perhaps. 

He had to think carefully about what he wanted to say, what information he should gather first and how best to extract it reliably. He was able to tell if Cygni was lying, of course, but it would be most prudent to avoid asking questions that would prompt Cygni to conceal the truth. Thrawn could not think of what those could be. His mind was clouded over with weariness. He looked to Cygni, watching the man. He was back leaning against the wall by the door. He was taking a sip of the water, his throat bobbing and the discolouration was visible in the shadow. Cygni looked back at him when he was finished, glass half emptied, and Thrawn couldn’t read the expression on his face. He waited, expecting him to respond. His question was yet unanswered.

Cygni said nothing. Thrawn didn’t talk either. He wasn’t sure where the best place to start would be. It seemed Cygni did not have anything more to say. Thrawn looked away, back down to his own fingers. The sensation of Cygni’s touch lingered.

He turned options over in his mind of how to press him. All sensible, and all would yield some information of use. An evasive or incomplete answer, or even a lack of response, were all instructive to a degree, but, Thrawn thought – realised – he didn’t  _ want _ to interrogate Cygni. He wanted help. Cygni could provide such. And wasn’t an alliance what he had offered to him so long ago?

“Please.” The word slipped out just before Thrawn realised what he was saying. He did not think to stop it. It hadn’t been what he’d planned to say, or how. Cygni’s eyes widened momentarily, a sheer contrast of pale sclera and dark iris, mirroring Thrawn’s own surprise. Cygni’s left hand clenched, the leather of his glove shining in the light. His expression softened. Only for a moment. He cleared his throat.

“The  _ Chimaera _ was, uh, ripped apart, to use the technical term. There were explosions too, though perhaps you had figured that part? Seems something went wrong and you popped out of hyperspace – couldn’t tell you the exact order between the two though.” The words were something Thrawn expected of Cygni, the particular choice of them a phrasing that suited his attitude and, again, the way Eli had described him when they had spoken onboard the Nomad freighter at Batonn, but his tone was strange. They were statements of fact, but delivered lightly. He couldn’t decipher if it was intended to placate him, or if Cygni was trying to rile him. Needless to say, Thrawn was unaffected, and his reaction would have been unchanged regardless of the delivery of the answer. He reassured and asserted himself with that. What was done was done. He had to focus on what he could do now, in the present. “Outlook on survivors is... grim.” Cygni’s voice and eyes hardened.

“I see,” Thrawn said. He ignored the flashes of fire, of screaming darkness, of light stretching out until stars were strings of energy all around him, and a tiny body floating in front of him clinging to life as everything fell apart. He knew that already. But at least Cygni was honest. He had to push forward.

“Were there any survivors onboard the station?”

Cygni’s throat moved, his lips parted as if to answer, but he did not. He held back his response for several seconds. He replied hesitantly, “I... didn’t ask for a number.” It felt like a lie, it looked like a lie, but Thrawn wasn’t sure. Something felt wrong about it. Perhaps Cygni truly had not enquired. Thrawn could not understand why he would not. Cygni would want to know. He wished to know and so of course Cygni would also—

His thumb scraped against the glass, a barely audible sound and Thrawn focussed on relaxing his grip, the twitch utterly unintentional. 

“Do you know what became of the fleet? My understanding was that only the  _ Chimaera _ was ‘transported’.”

Cygni nodded. “Well, half of it anyway. At least, there was only half when I got in range. The rest kind of... well, I wasn’t the only one present mind you. The  _ Chimaera _ didn’t emerge in completely dead space, but it was a while before rescues got underway.” Half of the ship. Was the wording intentional? He couldn’t tell. Thrawn held the glass tightly once again, tighter than before, feeling as though he could break it. Cygni did not give him time to process those words, the lives lost because of his... poor judgement, though he felt no pause would be long enough in that moment. There were things only he could control, that  _ he should _ control, and to put trust in another when he had— He took a breath. What was done was done, he reminded himself. He shouldn’t need to remind himself. Cygni was continuing on in clipped sentences. His voice was bitter. “Your other ships remained to continue the siege. From Imperial chatter it seems none were as badly damaged as your ship but... Lothal is far from a victory for either side. Safe to say there’s a bit of chaos in the Outer Rim at the moment. ”

“And where are we?”

Cygni’s lips curved. His eyes flickered and met his gaze. “A little further out than that.”

Not near Lothal at all, then. His earlier assumptions were incorrect.

He became aware of how brittle the glass felt in his hand, how his fingers curled to the point that his nails were feeling the pressure of pressing into it. He could break it. He could break it so easily. Blinking, Thrawn raised the glass to his lips and took a long drink of it. He hadn’t actually had anything to drink in several days, his fluid intake being intravenous while aboard the Twi’leks’ station.

The liquid was cool and strange on the tongue. He looked down at it and it seemed subtly effervescent. Had it been so before? Eli had mentioned once how water pulled from the earth could have different flavours depending on the acidity of the soil and bedrock, and that sometimes flavour pulled through on some ships where water tanks were frequently replenished using groundwater. It didn’t make sense for a ship like this to lack water reclamation systems or for water to retain such flavour, but Thrawn did not understand much about this vessel’s design or origin. Perhaps Cygni would elucidate. But not now.

“And you?” Thrawn asked softly, placing the glass on the table, his hands settling into a loose arch around it, fingertips touching. With the width of the glass he couldn’t interlock them, but steepling his fingers and pressing them against each other always brought a sense of calm with it. Habit. A gesture that he’d not had to copy or learn from humans.

“What do you mean?”

“What questions would you ask of me?” Since Cygni was keen this be a mutual exchange it seemed prudent to remind him of that. He wished to know what Cygni was thinking, and he would get a better understanding by what Cygni chose to ask. Thrawn watched as Cygni shrugged, leaning against the wall opposite him.

“What would I ask you about?” 

Thrawn deliberated. “I do not know,” he said. “Whatever you felt prudent to.”

Cygni’s fingers curled into a fist, his knuckles turning a bit paler with the stretch of skin, and a small flash of heat burst at the top of his cheeks, all in an instant. Thrawn blinked at that, quickly reviewing the shift in the man’s posture; where he had been lax not moments earlier, though not entirely off-guard, he was now taut and defensive.

A change of subject, then. He would simply persist. If a direct approach would not suffice to trigger the conversation...

“Where is your co-pilot?”

Cygni flinched at that. Then his face contorted in genuine puzzlement. “Pardon?”

“The ship has a pair of quarters, does it not? There are two seats at the helm also, though I do not believe you would require two people to fly.”

Cygni shook his head. “I don’t have anyone else with me here. Just me.”

Thrawn softened. “You have allies. You showed me that before.”

“No.”

“I see.” He paused. “What happened at the mining complex...” Thrawn said, part question, part suggestion. “I wish to know. Surely you do as well.”

Cygni glowered. “There’s nothing to say.”

Thrawn frowned at that, and looked back down at his hands. He could not identify what Cygni meant by that lie. Seconds passed and elongated. He was comfortable with silence, but the atmosphere in the room, between the two of them, was muddy and pressing. It felt charged, somehow, like something building and waiting. One of them had to speak first, to broach the subject, but Thrawn was not sure now what that subject was. What did Cygni want of him?

Or was he still holding back on what he wanted from Cygni?

He sighed, his temples throbbing. His chest felt strange and his body heavy. He was weary, and lacked the clarity of thought he required, that he _wanted_ . 

“Perhaps it’s karmic. The loss you faced.” Thrawn turned sharply to Cygni. The man was swirling the water in his glass, looking at it, not at him. “An eye for an eye kind of thing.”

Thrawn stared at him. He felt the moment stretch as he waited, but Cygni said nothing more. He felt something else then, something below the muted shock, or perhaps an extension of it, a strange  _ hurt _ that Cygni would use such words. He must have provoked something in the man because challenge flared in his eyes. He saw the small shiver that ran along Cygni’s body but was unable to place the source of the response. Thrawn said nothing. He did not have to initiate now. He only had to wait.

“What?” Cygni blurted, curt and defensive, not at all the casual response Thrawn suspected he’d been intending. Now, he could respond.

“This is unlike you.” His voice came out calmer than he felt, and yet it was not as strong as he wished. He inhaled slowly, watching as Cygni reacted to that, a grimace, a rejection of those words. Both of them were pushing each other, a game of manipulation Thrawn had hoped to avoid. He would not succumb to that. “You do yourself a disservice to say such things. We both know it is a stain on you.”

Cygni huffed. “Oh, is that so? Do tell.”

“I know that you are a good man, Cygni, and—” 

“You don't know the first damn thing about me and you never will,” the man hissed, voice raised and lips pulled back to a visceral snarl. Thrawn ignored the outburst and continued.

“—an honourable one. You value life; you disdain senseless death. You would not make light of tragedy.” Thrawn exhaled. “You choose life over all else – as do I.”

Cygni huffed again, something almost like laughter, short and bitter. His arms were folded over his chest. His emotions were switching quickly. “At least one of us does.”

“Thousands of men and women died under my command, in service to order. Your attempt to rile me in the face of such is uncharacteristic and in poor taste.”

“Yes. It must be terrible to misplace all of those useful assets. Such a waste. You seem to take such losses in your stride, though. All in a day’s work.”

Thrawn clamped down a guttural hiss rising in his throat and bit back verbal retort. He was surprised at how much effort it took. Somehow, at some point, he had let his emotions get the better of him. His throat worked and his mouth felt dry. He reached over and took another sip of the water. A welcome distraction. He didn’t need those memories worming their way to the forefront of his mind, distracting him when it was imperative he remained focussed. His breaths came in shallow. His chest still hurt. An uncomfortable tightness that he hadn’t been to shake off – more intrusive than ever. It was different to the ache he was familiar with and ignoring, but he had not imagined that a simple ache would be the only effect resulting from his injury. He looked back to Cygni, trying to reassert his demeanour and his posture. It was difficult to do so. 

Thrawn swallowed – or, tried to, but the motion was difficult, and he felt the sluggish and nauseating throb of his heartbeat in his throat, in his temples and his chest. An unnerving and distinctly unpleasant sensation.

“Nothing to say,” Cygni muttered, seemingly more to himself than to Thrawn. The statement wasn’t accusatory, merely accepting. Cygni was used to not receiving answers. Would Thrawn have given him one? Certainly to the question Cygni wanted to ask, was really asking. He would never have allowed that to happen if he had known – surely Cygni must know that? He would have done everything to stop it, like Cygni himself would have, had he known. He wished to stand up, to confront him about this, to flush out the anger and bitterness and to make sense of everything, and the shock of realising he wasn’t sure whether he was referring to himself, or to Cygni with those thoughts, hit Thrawn like a cold wash, and his body fell back in the chair, drained. 

Why was he feeling this way? He understood there were those that saw him as emotionless, and his responsibility often required a level of detachment, of essential logic to preside over emotive response, though never to extinguish the gut responses that were needed to make balanced judgement and quick decisions, but he was not so. And yet, he was not accustomed to this level of emotional clamouring. All this noise, this distortion and _messiness_... Thrawn found himself at a loss.

He should stop, and simply push it down. He shouldn’t rise to these provocations, and he must calm himself. It was strange to be away from it. He should close his eyes, just for a moment, and take a breath, and he should wring out the frustration and place it aside to be examined later. He had no reason to feel like this. It was uncalled for, it was sudden and meaningless.

He couldn’t breathe.

He wasn’t choking, no, there was no blockage, and there was no pain when trying to inhale – he simply couldn’t. It accompanied that strange sensation in his chest, like some kind of lassitude, a weight not crushing or constricting but something unfamiliar and unsettling. The weight of his body. Thrawn blinked, tried to rationalise, tried to centre himself on the fact that if this were some kind of infarction, it should hurt, and if this were a chemical agent subduing him, he did not feel any loss of consciousness. He wasn’t sure how that helped. It should – if he had thought of it it should help somehow. That meant he must be missing something. His thoughts whirred, too fast. Something from his own observation was escaping him. His head was lolling backwards ever so. When had he done that, why? To try and open his airways? He tried to move it, but found he couldn’t. His whole body was frozen. His arms were limp, his legs dead weights. Why? He didn’t understand. His thoughts were tumbling away again. Again, his head grew thick and bloated with observations he was trying and failing to connect together, with a cacophony of questions he was trying to answer and emotions and _accusations_. Thrawn looked to Cygni, his eyes narrow, turning attention outside. He felt threatened, somehow. Couldn’t understand. Was there danger? Cygni had no weapon – no, that wasn’t true, he had one holstered at his hip. The shape of the holder didn’t suggest a ranged weapon.

Cygni wasn’t moving.

Thrawn stared. Everything was whirring too fast and he struggled once more for breath. He could only manage something shallow, something barely there. Was Cygni affected also? He wanted to ask, to say the words, but his mouth wouldn’t move either. 

Cygni was doing nothing. Expressing nothing. Betraying nothing.

Thrawn blinked, and it was a struggle to open his eyes. He needed to stop, he needed to regain control. This was nothing more than a stressful event, a difficult battle, and it required calm. It required acceptance, observation and action. He took a moment to sit in his body, to feel what was happening to it: he could not move his limbs, and after a moment he realised that they were not stiff as they had been before, tensed as they had been at Cygni’s words, but lax and numb; his mouth was slack and dry; and the only thing he could manage to do was blink, albeit with difficulty. Exhaustion and fear clawed at him, and the realisation that he felt afraid was an uncomfortable one. Why? Why did he feel like this? He heard movement, the shift of clothing and looked to it – to Cygni. The human could move, then. Thrawn felt the cold and coiled tangle of dread unfurl and stretch inside of him, filling his uncooperative body, like some slick, serpentine beast. 

He was facing him now, his eyes dark and unfamiliar. The way Cygni’s hand was positioned above the belt pouch, the tension of it – it was something he intended to open, but couldn’t. Couldn’t? Yes, there was something in the form and the tilt of his brow that indicated intent and hesitation. Thrawn didn’t understand. He was just standing there.

It didn’t matter, Cygni didn’t matter, for now he had to focus. He inhaled a thin and shallow breath through his nose, not nearly enough to suffuse his body with oxygen. But it was possible. Whatever was happening to him, he could fight it or delay it, perhaps do enough to give Cygni some kind of signal.

Ah.

Thrawn flung his eyes open. Cygni was next to him, a dark figure over his slumped form, eyes bright and dark at the same time, lips pressed thin. Thrawn could feel a cold sharpness, see a flicker of light of something by his throat. Not pushing, threatening to do so. He looked down, followed Cygni’s arm down to where he could not see, but knew a hand was holding a blade to him.

His breath caught again, and the tightness of his chest, aching for movement and air, stuck like needles. He couldn’t pull his gaze away from Cygni, locked into staring back at him, at his eyes. It all seemed to narrow down to that. His field of vision was shrinking, he knew, and he fought for an agonising moment to inhale again, and again. He’d never struggled like this before. And then he blinked, wanting to frown but finding he couldn’t, because Cygni wasn’t breathing either.

The human was still poised over him, close enough to reach out and touch, a lock of hair slipping from behind his ear and his eyes, so rich, a dark brown that bordered so close to black that it was almost indistinguishable, were looking down at him so coldly. Perhaps if he could think better, he would know if that look was one of indifference or cruelty, and Thrawn wasn’t sure which one he’d prefer. Such an odd thought to have. But then Cygni shook, his whole body, and his eyes screwed shut. He looked sickly. Thrawn’s heart thumped, an erratic lurch as he felt the blade press against his throat. It was shaking.

He had to breathe. That was all he could think of, was breathing, while he still could. Cygni was motionless, was staring at him again, his eyes were wide and looked straight through him. Thrawn couldn’t hear over the rush of blood in his ears, and so when Cygni opened his mouth slightly he did not know if the man had spoken.

The hand slipped, and Thrawn felt the knife drop onto his chest and roll off. Couldn’t look towards it, couldn’t tell where it was. Then he became aware of the heel of Cygni’s palm pressing hard into his shoulder, trembling. Cygni’s head was bowed. It was like he was leaning on him for support. Thrawn breathed again. He wasn’t sure how he still could. Nothing was making sense.

This was worse than floating in the wreckage of his ship, surrounded by glass and soon-to-be corpses, had been.

With a violent lurch that pushed Thrawn’s chair back onto its hind legs for a moment, Cygni stood himself up. 

Thrawn closed his eyes. Darkness felt so close now. If he fell unconscious he’d suffocate. But he could still breathe, just slightly, and that is what mattered. He willed himself to focus on that, to shut out the other protests and screams of his body, to ignore that incessant need for information and simply focus on survival. One breath, one moment of relief, and sharp pang urging for more, getting duller with each subsequent inhale he managed. He swallowed, though it did not ease the dryness of his mouth, and inhaled again. It was easier, now. He could draw breaths more deeply. He wondered why that was so. He was still immobilised, but after a minute of pain and patience, he was finding he could regain his composure, little by little. It was not perfect, but it would do. He blinked his eyes open, feeling tears leak out down his cheeks, completely unintentional. Exertion, he thought. A purely biological stress response. His ears were still ringing, but he could hear himself now, and he could feel the thrum of the ship, vibrating through the floor and the chair. He could not hear Cygni, however.

He looked around, his vision no longer dark and clouded, first quickly, so quickly it made him feel dizzy, and then slower, in time with his shallow breaths. Cygni was not visible. In fact, given the utter silence outside of his own breathing, he was not in the room at all. Thrawn was alone.

The tightness of his chest was easing now, but his heart squeezed forcefully and he could hear and feel the rush of blood in his body. His pulse thrummed in his ears and throat. It was a sickening sensation, but it was better than before. The change was welcomed. Thrawn looked around again. Everything around him was still. He simply had to wait.

Time passed. It was painfully slow and indistinct. Thrawn sat silently, simply breathing, feeling the movement of his ribcage, of his diaphragms. The last few days, he thought, really were testing of his patience. 

His body slowly regained permanence. First his fingers could be flexed, and then his arms and his neck. It shot with pain from moving, the angle it had been resting at uncomfortable. Thrawn shook, taking a slow, deep breath, trying to stay steady. His inhale shook, and came down faster than he wanted, and with it came relief and a rush of awareness and then a cloud across his vision. Too much, it was dizzying. He could breathe now but he didn’t feel better for it. He paused, staying still, and tried to breathe slower. He frowned – it wasn’t helping. His body was shaking, and moving his arms was sluggish and trying to push onto his feet made him stagger and want to retch. The lights were hurting and his head was throbbing. Why now, when he had his body back, was it fighting him like this?

Side-effects, he thought, mumbling the word. It felt like he was coming-to again, but so much worse than before. Every sensation was thick and hard to grasp, his body did not feel balanced, did not feel his own, and his head swam with slippery thoughts.

The room, he had to sit, had to rest, but the room. It didn’t feel safe. He had to— he had to move, had to find Cygni or... he wasn’t sure. He shouldn’t think he should act. He couldn’t bear thinking. 

He squinted, trying to look to where he would go, but even the dim lights were too much. He could find his way without sight. It was a straight line, near enough. And he could lean against the walls. Once he was out of this room he could compartmentalise the events inside of it, and keep going. He stumbled forward, banging his shin on the corner of the table and wincing, pushing his weight forward until he fell against the wall. He raised a heavy arm and felt out. The edge of the door was to his right. 

Standing up was dizzying, and he bit back a retch. Whatever had happened was still happening, but it was just different. If he could focus his breathing he could focus his moving. His body knew how to, it was merely struggling. He closed his eyes – he didn’t need the extra sensory input, not when moving his eyes and head too quickly caused his vision to swim, not when the lights burned. One step, lifting a leg over the lip of the doorframe, almost tripping, then the other. It had only taken a few seconds to walk the length previously, so it wasn’t far until he would reach the presumed-quarters. He didn’t know where Cygni had gone, but at least there he could try and rest. Besides, if Cygni was going to harm him in any way, it hardly mattered where he was on the ship. May as well be comfortable. He blanched at the grim thought. Cygni didn’t matter, for now he had to focus.

It wasn’t far, but each step was difficult, Thrawn having to pause between them and bite back on the urge to vomit, or to slump down where he was. It was like some intense fever, the likes of which he’d never felt. He froze, his left hand curling against an edge. The corridor didn’t branch, so it must be an open door. Thrawn edged forward and opened his eyes. He fought the urge to shake the dizziness away, and raised his head slowly to look. It was one of the quarters, the one on the port side. The door was open entirely. 

Cygni.

He could see Cygni on his bed, his hands in his hair, pulling, pulling the strands, pulling at his scalp. It looked painful. He was looking down, his breathing erratic, staring at nothing, brow creased. The room was lit dimly, even dimmer than the commons. Dark eyes unfocussed. There was a tinny noise. Thrawn could only just hear it outside the dizziness. Cygni was wearing a bud in his ear. Faint music. Strings, guitar? The timbre was earthy and rich. Couldn’t tell. His senses were outside of him. Cygni did not move at Thrawn’s presence at the door. His back was arched as he leant over, elbows resting on his legs. It looked like he was shaking. Thrawn stood there, and Cygni did nothing. He took in the surroundings, messy, cramped and stuffy.

He couldn’t understand it – this was Cygni’s room? He’d assumed given the broken door lock that this would be  _ his _ quarters. Why wasn’t Cygni responding? His heart gave a sickening thump. He stumbled back, away, a step further down, and fumbled to open the other door to the other quarters. How? No keypad no button no touch— oh. He leant his weight on the door. It hissed and fell back, standing ajar but nothing else. Thrawn growled in frustration. He raised his right hand and pushed his fingers along the thin gap as far as he could, from the top downwards, and felt a tiny latch. His fingers were numb and didn’t move right still, and the gap was so small it hurt to force his smallest finger in, but he managed to push it. With a click the door mechanism unlatched and he slid it open. Like the cupboards. Had Cygni left his door like that for ease? Didn’t seem right. There was wiring. Wiring? Oh. He’d seen it at the foot of the door. Wiring. Hydraulics. Connected to the latch. Broken. He stepped forward. The room was blissfully dark.

Thrawn exhaled in a shuddering breath, took another few steps and collapsed on the bed. The door was still open but he couldn’t care. His stomach lurched and his vision fogged over a kaleidoscope of colour and jagged pattern and he gulped down breath again. It was easier now, so much easier. He tried to soothe himself with the knowledge that perhaps it was simple light-headedness producing such a response, nothing else to indicate something more severe, and Thrawn found himself balling his fist into the flimsy covers of the bunk.

The situation may be out of his control, but not entirely, and not permanently. He simply needed to recuperate. Cygni wasn’t doing anything. Wouldn’t. Didn’t. Why had he? Why  _ hadn’t _ he?

He didn’t know.

Thrawn didn’t know.

He groaned and tried to pull his leg up onto the bed. His entire body was cold. Should he turn over? He wasn’t sure if that would help. If he vomited would that help or hinder? He hadn’t yet, though the urge to retch hadn’t receded.

He shifted a little, groaning again at the discomfort. His heart was still racing, but at least now he could be still, and the nausea should settle. He’d only been immobilised for a few moments, so these effects too should pass quickly. He found there was a pillow just above his head, and he dragged it down so he could lie on it. 

The light from the corridor and Cygni’s room shone in a yellow strip that cut across the floor and his feet, hanging over the bed. He wondered what Cygni was doing. He wished he could see him.

Thrawn closed his eyes and waited for sleep. He would change tactics and try again tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a lovely Valentine's Day update :)
> 
> Full TW explanation: Around the half-way point, Thrawn finds himself unable to move and struggles to breathe (because he was drugged). This is a little upsetting for him. Cygni holds a blade to his throat, but does not do anything. Cygni has a panic attack, and then leaves. Thrawn recovers mobility, but is still feeling panicked and ill, and passes out.  
> I can try to put anchors in place so readers can skip the relevant section easier as necessary!


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